


The Vague Outlines of Ghosts

by analineblue, sariagray



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s02e10 From Out of the Rain, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariagray/pseuds/sariagray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after they have come and gone, Ianto can’t quite let go of the case of the night travelers; more so than anything he's ever encountered, these creatures seem to be bound up in the past, present, and future of Torchwood, and of Jack. With help from the rest of the team, Ianto undergoes an investigation that he hopes will put this mystery to rest once and for all. While immersing himself in his research, Ianto also attempts to navigate both the personal and professional aspects of his relationship with Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ianto Big Bang community on LiveJournal.

_It was the musty smell of rain on old velveteen cloth that stayed with Ianto, long after the fear and disappointment had faded to a dull ache in the back of his mind. The moisture of it stained his memories the way that droplets of water might blur old photographs, making the ink bleed off of the thick paper. Each recollection of his past was like that; sometimes a half-formed sepia coffee ring circled a face, or a blot of jam obscured a bit of scenery, or the edge of the horizon was completely burnt away. Sometimes, too, the whole picture seemed to fade completely until there was nothing left save for the vague outlines of ghosts._

*****

Delicately, between the tips of his thumb and forefinger, Ianto held up a daguerreotype from the file he had been perusing. Throughout the years, Torchwood had collected little concrete data on the night travelers, despite Jack’s undercover operation and what they _had_ gathered had been rather poorly documented.

He stared at the picture. A woman stared back, her pale mouth grim and small, her dark hair pulled away from her face and tucked behind her ears. There was a smile in her eyes that contrasted her stiff pose and awkwardly placed limbs. Ianto had no idea who she was or if she even belonged in this particular file.

There was an exaggerated shuffle behind him and the low murmur of an unnecessary cough before a firm hand pressed against his shoulder. Ianto sighed.

“It’s getting late,” Jack whispered. “And you aren’t going to find much in there.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Ianto said quietly, turning to face him. His features softened as he observed Jack’s comfortable smile.

Jack leaned over him, his hand on the back of Ianto’s chair, and Ianto breathed deeply, inhaling the heady and powerful scent as the musk of pheromones washed over him. 

The Hub was shrouded in the almost-darkness of after hours, and the already sparse light around them dimmed as Ianto’s computer switched to screensaver mode. An undulating flow of blues and greens danced in patterns onto the surface of the desk in front of him.

The expansive space hummed around them - mostly asleep, but alert. The constant readiness of a soldier during wartime.

“Who’s she?” Jack asked eventually, pointing to the photograph. “I don’t remember her,” he continued, tracing a finger over the edge. “Kinda cute, though. Am I right?”

“Always,” Ianto agreed with a smirk, wheeling his chair around so that he could face Jack properly.

Jack nudged at his foot with a boot-clad toe. “Really, she’s your type? I would have never guessed.” 

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “You must be slipping.”

Jack smiled affectionately. “Not possible. Not with you, anyway.”

“Such confidence.”

Jack barked out a quick laugh. “Well, it’s only hubris if I fail, right?”

Ianto stared at him for a long moment. He watched the corners of Jack’s lips quirk up into an expectant smile. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you mean," Ianto said calmly. "But you failing? Not something I’m worried about.”

Jack grinned, high-wattage this time, and pulled up a spare chair from Tosh’s workstation.

“Exactly,” he replied, before his expression turned contemplative, and he gestured to the file on Ianto’s desk. “So, what have you got so far?”

Ianto sighed and closed the folder with a crisp, resolute snap. Jack had been straddling the line between curious interest and concern for the past two days, waltzing around Ianto like the steps to a foreign dance; one movement would find him cloyingly close and then suddenly he was back across the room. It was dizzying.

“A headache.”

Jack laughed. “That all?

“Well, Torchwood’s always been focused on two things about the night travelers; what they want and how to get rid of them. I think it’s always been assumed that they’re alien, but there’s no proof. The only thing that seems to be consistent is what they do to their victims. There also seems to be a strong connection to water. The latter thread has never really been followed, though, as far as I can tell.”

Jack nodded. His eyes were clouded with hesitation and Ianto wished fervently that he could explain why it mattered, wished they could just move on from this once and for all.

It had only been fifty three hours and twenty seven minutes since they had put this case to bed; it felt like years. It felt like seconds.

Ianto ran his hand through his hair, his eyes flickering closed and then open. “There’s the rain, of course. And Tosh swears she was picking up readings unique to the sea. Also, Jonathan found one of them soaking in his bathtub.”

“Not to mention the dehydrated state of the victims,” Jack mused thoughtfully. “Right, so, water is a necessity.”

“No,” Ianto murmured, shaking his head. “No, it’s more than that. It’s an obsession, I think. Almost like an addiction.”

“Okay, so we’re looking for something that can be addicted to water. Or is it something in the water, some part of it? Oxygen, maybe?”

Ianto shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m going to cross-reference our compendium of alien species and see what turns up.”

“Tonight? It’s almost ten.”

"Says the man who never sleeps," he quipped, watching Jack curiously. "If I didn't know better, I might think you'd rather I drop this altogether."

Jack shook his head. "That's not it. I'm just as worried as you are that these things - whatever they are - could turn up again."

Ianto nodded. He believed Jack, he really did, but there was just something odd about the whole thing, he supposed. When he'd seen Jack's figure step into that frame up on the screen in the Electro, his heart had practically jumped into his throat. It had been exhilarating, this surprise piece of Jack's past thrown up there - like a gift, almost. _The man who couldn't die._

Part of him wondered if Jack knew more than he was letting on, but he couldn't tell if the feeling was directly related to all of this, to the night travelers, or if it was something else, something deeper. Because, of course, Jack _always_ knew more than he let on, about most everything.

Ianto sighed and met Jack's gaze.

"You think I know something, something I'm not telling you," Jack observed, and Ianto almost laughed. Jack could be so astute when he wanted to be. 

"I _don't_ ," Jack assured him, sounding a little hurt.

"I know," Ianto said quickly. 

Maybe he was making more of this than it really was. Seeing things that weren’t really there. Maybe it really was just a mystery. It certainly wouldn't be the first, or the last, mystery he'd encountered with this job, and the fact that lives had been lost didn't exactly set it apart, either.

"I wasn't as…" Jack continued and Ianto watched him pause, searching for the words, like he always did when he spoke of his past, " _thorough_ back then as I am now. I followed orders."

Ianto nodded and leaned back in his chair, watching Jack, who was fiddling with a stray thread at the edge of his waistcoat.

"I never should have let it go back then."

Ianto shook his head. "You didn't know what would happen. You couldn't have."

"I knew enough," Jack said darkly, and somehow, Ianto wasn't sure how to argue that point. 

Placing a hand on Jack’s knee, Ianto offered a small smile. “Take me home.”

*****

As his Audi crept out of the garage and into the still night air, it dawned on Ianto that he may just have been played with a false sulk, the oldest trick in the book. In fact, he was fairly certain that this was the case – Jack’s normal method of brooding did not turn quite so quickly into something that assuredly _gleeful_.

It was strange. They had never stopped conning one another (old habits are hard to break; this was no different), but somewhere along the way it had shifted from actual illicit pretense. Now they tricked one another into completing paperwork, eating proper meals, and getting as much sleep as possible.

It would be infuriating if it wasn’t so comfortable.

“…dinner and did you even eat lunch? Not much is going to be open now.”

Okay, maybe it was a _little_ infuriating.

“Jack. I’m fine. Really.”

The roadways were clear, damp with the evening’s sudden (if not unexpected) rainfall. They glistened in the glow of the pale yellow streetlamps and a light, low-lying mist clung to the ground. It wafted slightly in the wake of Ianto’s car, like a horde of specters, and he found himself glancing at the rearview mirror to watch the gentle sway.

“Besides,” he continued as his eyes flicked from the windshield, then the rearview, then Jack, and back again, “Gwen practically force-fed me pizza while you were on that call with Martha.”

The Audi slipped silently through the night, just the soft rush of air and the wet sound of tires on slick pavement cutting through the quiet.

“Well,” Jack said after the lull had reached a point of awkwardness. “Tea, and then bed.”

Ianto frowned. “Tea?”

“Seems a shame to just send you to bed without tea.”

It was, perhaps, the most ridiculous but also the most logical thing Ianto had heard all night. At least, coming from Jack.

“Since when do we have tea before bed, Jack?” Ianto chided. He watched the lines of the road as they disappeared into the darkness on either side of the car. “Not that I’m saying it’s a bad idea…”

Jack laughed, somewhere between amused and flirtatious, and stared over at Ianto from the passenger seat.

“I suppose it is a little ‘old married couple,’ isn’t it?” he said, and out of the corner of his eye, Ianto could see Jack’s eyebrows raised expectantly in his direction.

Ianto’s grip on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily. He swallowed.

“Nothing against old married couples,” Jack continued, seemingly oblivious to the sudden change in the air; it was electrified with a thousand uncertainties that neither of them would say a word about, but that hung there between them all the same.

Ianto just smiled blithely. The moment passed.

It wasn’t a long drive from the Hub to Ianto’s flat, but this wasn’t the first time it’d seemed to stretch endlessly.

At the fork at the end of the main road that led to the smaller, more suburban development, Ianto should have turned left.

Except that this time, he didn’t. On a whim, he kept going. It took Jack nearly a minute before he realized they were off course.

“Hey,” Jack said cautiously. “Shouldn’t you have made a--”

“Change of plans." 

“Something I said?” Jack joked, but there was understanding in his voice – Jack was never truly oblivious, after all.

“Research,” Ianto offered, making up his mind. “I’ve followed up on some of the police reports of strange goings-on in the area over the past few weeks. The police station in Pontypridd received a report of suspicious activity at Ynysangharad Park last Tuesday. A woman, wearing hardly anything, and a strange man were seen wandering around the abandoned swimming pool there.”

“Water,” Jack commented and nodded.

“Exactly. Figured we could check it out.”

“Sure. There’s always time for tea later, right?” Jack grinned.

Ianto hummed a soft acknowledgement and tried to focus on the road instead of the image that had materialized in his brain: Jack comfortably ensconced on his sofa, a mug of milky sweet tea cupped in his hands, watching some sort of late night program on the telly. It was as soothing a thought as it was terrifying.

Jack reached over and clicked on the radio. He turned the volume down low enough to barely drown out the whir of the engine.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “there’s been a movement for liquid stabilized oxygen as a cure for cancer. Torchwood One kept an eye on them for a few years, but they were just your average medicinal conspiracy nuts. The treatment doesn’t work at all, but it’s not a cover for anything sinister, so they dropped the case.”

Ianto blinked and frowned, a twinge of familiar panic running through him at the mention of the fallen division.

“Right.”

“Well, I was thinking that perhaps it’s related.”

The rain had started again. Steady, large drops pattered against the windshield and Ianto flicked on the wipers. Not enough water had collected, and the rubber shrieked against the glass in protest.

“You think the night travelers have cancer?”

“No, no,” Jack chuckled. “But they may have a need for oxygen that’s stabilized. For purposes of energy, essentially oxygen and carbohydrates are needed. In carbon-based life forms, at any rate.”

Ianto frowned again, put on his blinker, and turned down the next street.

“They came out of film,” he muttered. “They’re hardly carbon-based.”

“So, celluloid. Which is made from–”

“Nitrogen.” Ianto paused as the realization hit him. “They’re nitrogen-based.”

“Yeah, like I suspected.”

Ianto pulled over to the side of the dark roadway and turned to Jack, who was beaming at him with equal parts pride and excitement.

“And,” Ianto continued with a small smile, “nitrogen dissolves in water. But there’s also a decent presence of it in the rain, in tap water, in sea water, all of it. South Wales is a fairly agricultural community, so the concentration must be relatively high.”

“That could explain why they showed up here,” Jack said thoughtfully.

“We should take samples,” Ianto said, eyes flashing. “From any standing water we find at the park, and then from the Cardiff locations, too.”

Jack nodded in agreement, and then frowned. “Have you got anything we can use in the boot?”

“Just a basic kit for emergencies, but there should be a few suitable containers.”

Jack nodded and then just grinned at him, which was a little unnerving.

“What?” Ianto asked, knowing he was playing right into whatever Jack was thinking, but too hyped up from the idea of actually getting somewhere with the case to really care.

Jack leaned over the console between them. 

“Have I ever mentioned before how happy I am that I hired you?” Jack stage-whispered, and despite himself, Ianto felt his cheeks flush slightly.

“Only about twice a day,” he mumbled. “Give or take.”

Jack chuckled deep in his throat, and suddenly Ianto could feel his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Jack’s hand on his thigh began to creep dangerously close to what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable tightening of wool against cotton, just underneath the zipper of his trousers.

The rain was coming down in earnest against the windows now, streaking along the windshield, and almost drowning out the sound of his heart and his breath as it huffed out in front of him.

“I thought we were working,” Ianto muttered, sucking in a long breath as Jack’s hand palmed the erection he’d fought so valiantly against for all of thirty seconds before giving in.

“We _are_ working,” Jack insisted. “I’m helping us focus,” he continued, unbuttoning Ianto’s trousers and sliding his hand inside with practiced ease.

“Trust me,” Jack whispered, and Ianto just managed to roll his eyes before squeezing them shut tight and letting his head fall back against the headrest with a low groan.

The next thing he knew, Jack had pushed Ianto’s seat backward with a sharp snick and lowered the back until Ianto was completely horizontal. Startled, and a bit in pain, his eyes flew open just in time to see Jack attempt to straddle him.

Despite the dizzying sensation of the sudden shift in blood flow, Ianto chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“That didn’t work last time, either.”

“Shut up,” Jack growled and nipped at his neck as he settled himself precariously over Ianto’s body.

“Yes, sir.”

Jack growled again, low and rumbling, before fumbling with the zip of his trousers. The rain began to pelt the roof harder, building into a pattering tempo. Ianto closed his eyes once more and relaxed his body into the warm leather of the seat.

The hot, slick feel of Jack’s cock aligning with his own, the closeness of his large fist encompassing them both in a slide of friction, and the cool air snaking between Jack’s grasp made Ianto’s eyelids flicker.

“Fuck,” he muttered against the soft skin just below Jack’s ear. “ _Fuck_.”

Jack’s teeth bit a trail of sharp marks along Ianto’s jaw as he increased the speed of his hand. He was panting, as close as Ianto was, surely. Ianto bucked his hips to better angle himself in Jack’s grip.

He opened his eyes and they widened, almost instantly, in shock.

“What the fuck was that?” he gasped.

He shoved Jack away from him and stared out the window into what was now, apparently, nothing. 

Nothing but rain and darkness and a single flickering streetlamp.

Jack's hand steadied him, fingers splayed out against the small of his back, as he stared out into the darkness and the rain at what had obviously been nothing at all. Warmth pooled at the base of his spine and he turned to Jack, caught somewhere between exasperation and desire. 

"You're always so _calm_." 

Jack stared up at him from his lounging position, eyes dark, curious. "Well, one of us has to be, right?" 

Then he nodded for Ianto to come back and join him, and for a second, Ianto considered refusing - he wasn't an exhibitionist, whatever Jack had to say to the contrary, and while he was fairly certain that there'd been nothing outside the car other than his overactive imagination, the front of his car would never be his preferred location. 

And then Jack flopped over onto his side, and Ianto caught a glimpse of his hand, long fingers draped lazily around his half-hard cock, and it was all the invitation he needed. 

"Seriously," he panted in Jack's ear, tongue darting out to taste the skin there, just for a moment. It was warm, and under his tongue he could feel Jack's pulse, hammering quickly as his hand worked between them. "Don't you ever..." he groaned, close now. 

"Don't I ever..." Jack prompted, sounding, well, _calm_ , of course. 

"Worry about..." He struggled to finish his thought, well aware that most of Jack's attention was elsewhere, "...what's out there. All the things we... _fuck_..." he hissed as Jack nipped at his ear. He bucked his hips up. "Don't understand..."

"All the time," Jack whispered, unexpectedly serious, before his head thumped hard against Ianto's shoulder. He ground out Ianto's name, low and rough, and Ianto squeezed his eyes shut tight, and just let go.

He focused on the sound of the rain and the soft warmth of Jack’s breath on his cheek as he let his nerves settle. He felt Jack shift a bit until all of his weight rested on Ianto’s left side.

“Don’t tell me you're trying to cuddle,” he muttered without looking.

“No, trying to find tissues.”

“They should be in the glove box, underneath the torch and the bandages. Left of the sanitizer.”

Ianto rolled his shoulders as Jack retrieved his prize with a sharp exhale of victory. He let Jack clean them off, relishing in the quiet of the moment. As soon as he was done, Jack plopped back in his seat with a thwack and poked at Ianto’s side until he opened his eyes.

“So,” he grinned when Ianto fixed him with a glare, “where were we?”

“About to collect samples of water from the park and the rest of Cardiff, I believe. So we can test them for nitrogen.”

“It’s late. We can do it tomorrow,” Jack prompted, a note of hope in his voice that Ianto really hated to have to crush.

“Did you miss the part where I said that nitrogen dissolves in water?”

“It’s going to be compromised anyway. We’re better off getting samples from the Hub tomorrow. From the water system, from the rain, from the bay… We can do any immediate testing then. Nitrogen doesn’t have a very long half-life. I doubt you’d find anything conclusive in that pool, but we can check it out some other time. We’ll see better, for one.”

Ianto sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“So we just had sex, in my car, in the middle of the road, for absolutely no reason whatsoever?”

“Such a romantic,” Jack teased, and raised his eyebrows at Ianto, a little like he was expecting him to protest.

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I must be missing something. What part of that was supposed to be romantic?”

He went about re-buttoning his trousers, then tucked his shirt in and straightened his tie, before he let out a huff of breath and turned to Jack again. Outside, the rain seemed to be letting up just a bit, a few drips and drops here and there on the windows and the roof, but it hardly compared to the downpour of a few minutes ago. It only served to accentuate Jack’s curious silence.

“What?” Ianto asked finally. He tried not to sound as exasperated as he was starting to feel.

Jack watched him - his glance was severe, but still largely unreadable. It was enough to make Ianto’s stomach clench up for a moment.

“Jack?” Ianto tried again, torn between starting the car and just getting the hell out of there, or waiting for Jack’s response.

He was about turn the key, but his conscience got the better of him and he turned to Jack instead.

“Sorry,” he said, letting out a breath. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded before.”

At this, Jack let out a quick laugh and Ianto felt his cheeks flush with color. He closed his eyes, hand still on the ignition.

“We should get out of here,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say, because he never knew what to say when Jack was like this.

Ianto turned the key in the ignition, thankful that at least the storm outside had died down. 

The car idled for a moment, neither of them speaking. Ianto kept sending surreptitious glances in Jack’s direction, but he had his head firmly turned to stare out the window. Finally, Jack exhaled, the only noise other than the occasional drop of rain and the distant hum of the engine.

“We’ll go out later,” he promised to the window and Ianto watched as the glass fogged and cleared and fogged again with each breath.

Ianto threw the Audi into reverse and rested his arm on Jack’s seat to check the empty street behind him. The car inched backwards and then he turned it around to head home. As he went to remove his arm, Jack grabbed his hand, squeezed it once, and remained silent.

Sighing again, Ianto rested their clasped hands on Jack’s thigh and continued driving.

He wasn’t sure why he had been so quick to anger lately, but ever since he’d seen Jack up on the screen, performing for a group of strangers who _clapped_ every time he died and came back, he’d straddled the line between awestruck and infuriated.

And that Jack had done it all for the sake of a case that remained unsolved almost a century later left Ianto feeling restless and ineffectual.

“I _am_ sorry,” he said, softly, when they turned the corner back to the main road. “I just meant – well, I don’t know what I meant. I just…I want to fix this.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be fixed,” Jack whispered.

Resisting the urge to bang his forehead against the steering wheel, Ianto squeezed Jack’s hand.

“This is. This can be. I’m not trying to fix _you_ , I wouldn’t change who you are, but this isn’t about you.”

“It’s not about you, either. Though if you talk about having sex with me as if it’s some kind of burden again, it just might _become_ about you.” 

While his voice sounded amused enough, Ianto found himself glancing over anyway, just to make sure.

Jack was smiling fondly. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Ianto’s wrist, a tiny gesture, but Ianto could feel himself relax, his heart steadying, as if Jack was ironing out the creases with measured movements against his skin.

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I also know how you can be about this car.”

Ianto frowned. “Then you ought to know I wouldn’t have sex with just anyone in here.”

“I should hope not,” Jack said softly, before he turned to the window again. “We’ve had a lot of rain this month,” he observed calmly.

There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice, though, and suddenly Ianto was reminded of what it was that had him so infatuated with the whole idea of the night travelers in the first place. He’d wanted to know more, wanted to get closer to figuring out the kind of person Jack had been back then, standing up in front of those crowds night after night, and raising his pistol to his temple. He’d wanted to know what Jack had been thinking, too, playing with his own mortality like that.

“How many times did they make you die?” is what he ended up saying, as he turned a corner and pointed them back in the direction of his flat, and Cardiff proper.

It sounded like he was missing the point, even to his own ears, but to his surprise Jack just squeezed his hand. And when he had to let go a moment later to make the next turn, he found Jack’s hand on his knee.

“Too many to count,” Jack said eventually. He sounded a little embarrassed. “Had to pass the time somehow, right?”

He was grinning. Ianto could see it, though the rain had started again, forcing him to keep his gaze firmly fixed on the road. 

"This isn't about me though, remember?" 

“It’s always about you,” Ianto muttered, his voice low. “It always comes back to you.”

Jack snorted and Ianto shook his head to forestall any comments.

“No,” he continued. “It does. You know, sometimes I think about this one time I fell out on the Plass. I was seven. I ran away from my sister and tripped on an uneven piece of ground. I skinned my knee and she was so afraid she’d get in trouble for losing sight of me. And all that time, you were probably below or above me, at that very moment.”

“So,” Jack snickered, squeezing his knee suggestively, “not much has changed.”

Ianto’s eyes narrowed and then he laughed. “You – look, I’m a mess, okay? A complete mess.”

“You know, he didn’t want Owen. The Ghostmaker, I mean. It was in the report.”

“That’s not a very unusual occurrence. Not many people do.”

Jack huffed a laugh and shook his head slightly. It was like an undulating shadow.

“I’d thought they’d come for me,” Jack said. “Thought I was perfect for them. But then, I don’t have a last breath to take, either.”

“So you decided to spend your nights shooting yourself in the head, instead. Logical conclusion.” 

Sighing, Jack reached up to pet his arm. “Look, it’s in the past. The very, very distant past. I was different then.”

Stopping at the light, Ianto twisted to face Jack and felt the heat rise up in his chest like bile.

“That doesn’t make it okay, Jack!”

He paused, holding his breath, and let the words bounce around and then flutter to the floor. Exhaling, he ran his hand through his hair. Jack stared at him with wide eyes, like he’d just spoken a foreign language.

“Are you hungry?” Jack finally asked.

The light changed.


	2. Chapter 2

“The light’s changed,” Jack offered helpfully and Ianto realized that he was just sitting there, foot on the brake, staring forward as the bright green glow of the light in front of him stared back. It almost seemed like some sort of personal affront. That he was supposed to just _keep going_ , just keep plowing through everything, all the time, no matter what.

The light flicked to amber, briefly, and then to red again. The car idled. Ianto glanced in the rearview mirror and saw nothing but pitch black road. Tall hedges lined the shoulder. This section of the road was flat; he’d be able to see the next car coming for a while. He could stay here forever, if he fancied.

Just as he began to turn to Jack, Jack shifted towards him, and reached for the keys in the ignition. With a flick of his wrist, the motor shut off. Without meeting his eyes, Jack gestured to the door.

“Get out. Switch with me,” Jack said, casual as ever.

Ianto glanced in the rearview mirror again. Still nothing. He looked at Jack, confused.

“Ianto. _Out_ ,” Jack said, with slightly more authority.

Ianto reached for the car door.

Outside the car, he could see Jack deftly climbing over the console, positioning himself in the driver’s seat. The air was cool and wet; not quite raining anymore, but close, and the ground felt strange under his feet, walking where he wasn’t supposed to be walking, in the middle of the road, in front of a traffic light that just kept blinking in cycles, over and over. There was a strange stillness out here, too, in the rustling of the leaves and the bend of the hedges overhanging either side of the road.

Eventually, he reached for the door, fingers sliding against the hard plastic handle, and pulled it open. 

“If this is an elaborate ruse to kidnap me, you’re going to too much trouble,” he said with as much playfulness as he could muster.

“You’re tired. I’m taking you home.” 

“Oh, good. I was really worried there for a moment.”

Ianto closed his eyes and strapped on his seatbelt and wondered when Jack driving his car became an occurrence, a _thing_. Without even the smallest token protest, he’d just given it up. Then again, he was probably making a big deal out of nothing. It was a _car_ , not a commitment.

Jack cleared his throat and glanced over at Ianto. “You look panicked. I promise I won’t break your precious Audi.”

“It’s not the Audi I’m worried about you breaking,” Ianto said sleepily, and then clamped his mouth down on the truth.

To his credit, Jack only made some indistinguishable noise and kept driving.

They weren’t far now, less than ten minutes away, and Ianto forced himself to keep his eyes open for the remainder of the drive. He wasn’t sure when the exhaustion had hit, or why it felt like rearing its head all of the sudden, but it was difficult to keep up with the swiftly passing streetlamps.

“You’re not going to be able to stay awake for your tea,” Jack chided softly, his voice gentle and smooth as a lullaby.

“I don’t get your sudden –” Ianto stifled a yawn, “fixation with tea. Thought you preferred coffee.”

Jack attempted a shrug while keeping his hands on the wheel. “Coffee isn’t as romantic as tea.”

He wanted to argue this point, vehemently, but it wasn’t worth the energy. The air in the cabin was warm and cloying; he wanted to sink down into it like a duvet. He snorted his disapproval and hoped that Jack would get the message.

He deliberately kept any snide comments about Jack and romance sealed behind closed lips. 

Jack flipped on the radio. Ianto listened for a moment to the chatter, but he was so tired he could barely follow the crisp, confident words of the BBC news correspondent. Then again, even perfectly rested, current events (except those surrounding the ten or so square kilometers that encompassed the rift) weren't exactly on the top of his agenda these days. 

He tried to listen for a while, but after about thirty seconds he reached forward, switched the radio off completely, and settled back into his seat in silence.

He stared idly at Jack's hands on the wheel, trying not to fall asleep, until one of them moved and found its way to his knee. 

"You keep doing that," Ianto mumbled and heard Jack chuckle in response. 

"Just checking to make sure you're still with me." 

"Is there somewhere else you think I might go?" Ianto asked. As soon as the words rolled off his tongue, they sounded ridiculous.

"Oh, I'm sure you could come up with a few alternatives." 

"You overestimate me," Ianto replied, suddenly sitting up a little straighter in his seat, his eyes not quite so heavy anymore. 

"You know," Jack continued, ignoring him, "find someone who hasn't spent so much of their life dying."

The houses were closing in along both sides of the road as they approached Ianto's neighborhood. The air in the car had turned from warm and comfortable to stifling, and Ianto hastily reached for the automatic window switch.

"I can't stand it when you do that," Ianto told him, trying not to lose his temper as the cool air rushed against his face. He had no idea what it was about them tonight, why they couldn't hold a normal conversation without _this_ happening. It was only half Jack's fault, too, he knew that, but it didn’t make him any less irritated. “It’s not funny,” Ianto muttered before fixing his eyes on the window again. 

The rest of the ride was silent, though Ianto could practically feel the need to say something radiating from Jack. It didn’t help that he was getting fidgety, either, tapping on the steering wheel repetitively, off beat, like he was trying to signal something with Morse code. It wasn’t an SOS, though. Ianto was grateful for that.

They pulled into the small lot and Ianto quickly had the window rolled up before Jack could shut off the car. But as he reached for the door handle, Jack placed a hand on his arm.

“Is that what this is about?” he asked.

It was strange to hear Jack sound so soft, so concerned, and Ianto blinked at him for a moment before giving a half shrug.

“I – look, it’s cold. Let’s go in. I’ll make you your tea.”

“Wait,” Jack insisted. “I don’t want to walk in there until this is resolved. Tell me.”

Ianto sighed, settled back in his seat, and stared forward. “I’m tired, Jack. So tired.” He shut his eyes, tight, but his heart was pounding too hard to even consider sleep now.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Jack actually seemed contrite, as though he had been the cause of Ianto’s exhaustion. Maybe he had been, but _that_ at least wasn’t his _fault_. Not really.

“I’m just…I’m tired of lying, of running, of hiding. I’m tired of pretending to be okay when you die. I’m tired of having everyone assume that it’s fine because you just come back, but none of that is your fault, and I’m really tired of not having someone to blame.”

Jack stared at him and even though he wasn’t looking, Ianto could feel the gaze burning along the side of his face. The hand that had stopped Ianto tightened, like Jack was trying to keep him from slipping away forever. Ianto turned to face him.

“Take me to bed, Jack. Please.”

"I'm tired too," Jack said quietly, loosening his grip on Ianto's arm.

Ianto just nodded, waiting.

"There isn't anyone to blame; that's the problem, isn't it?" Jack continued.

He was staring past Ianto, out of the window at the street and into the darkness. Ianto turned for a moment to follow his gaze, but there was nothing out there. The lights in the houses on either side of the lot were dark. It felt a little like they were the only two people left on the planet. Ianto wished it were that easy, sometimes.

"Even if there was someone, or something to blame," Ianto said carefully, "I'm not sure it would help."

Jack shook his head. "It did. A long time ago..." He paused. "Having someone to blame made things feel less final. But I know the truth now."

"I don't care anymore, Jack, about who's to blame, or--"

"You can blame me, if you want," Jack continued, as if he hadn't heard him. "If it makes you feel better."

"I'm not going to blame _you_. Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you need to. Because maybe it would make things better for you," Jack said matter-of-factly.

"It wouldn't help. That's not what I want."

Behind Jack's head, outside the window, the streetlamp glowed, golden and distorted through the glass.

"I just want you to want this," Ianto said finally. "I want you to let _me_ want it."

Jack turned to face him, eyes wide; in fear or surprise or awe, Ianto wasn’t sure. He felt like he should just give up, get out of the car, run down the street forever. He also considered staying in the car forever.

Slowly, Jack pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened his door and, when Ianto went to follow suit, made an abortive gesture. Ianto watched as he closed the car door carefully, a soft snick as the latch caught rather than the usual earth-shattering slam. Jack passed around the back of the car, opened Ianto’s door, and reached out a hand.

Ianto took it, for lack of any better option, and stepped out. He’d barely placed his feet on the ground before Jack pulled him close. He smelled like rain, ozone - something that was completely natural and yet entirely mysterious.

His eyes were dark, not simply with lust (although, Ianto thought with a level of amusement, that was clearly part of it), but with hope, and that was quite possibly the most dangerous expression Ianto had ever seen on Jack’s face.

“Jack, what –”

“Of course I want this,” he said, and then kissed him.

The air was damp with post-rain mist, and cool, and the miniscule droplets clung to them and made everything hazy. Ianto felt Jack’s hands slide up his arms, his shoulders, his neck, until they gently framed his face. His fingertips stroked the edge of Ianto’s hair almost absently, a not-quite afterthought to what their mouths were doing.

Jack pulled away, puffs of panted breath the only touch against Ianto’s tingling lips.

“And I want you to want it,” Jack whispered against Ianto’s mouth, “and I hate myself for that, but I can’t help it.”

It started to rain again, or the mist had coalesced into something more tangible; either way, it was almost soothing, temperate. Ianto watched as beads of water collected on strands of Jack’s hair, his eyelashes, his lips. And suddenly, he was clutching Jack’s shirt, spinning him, pressing him against the car and devouring Jack’s mouth to quench a thirst that had risen up from the deepest parts of himself.

Ianto was pressed so thoroughly against Jack’s body that he could feel the twitch of every muscle as it ceded control, and lay itself in Ianto’s hands for his use. The power was heady and the knowledge that he wouldn’t abuse it even more dizzying.

“Inside,” he gasped and Jack nodded, trails of water rolling down his face and dripping from his brow.

His flat smelled old, closed up and stale - a little chilly, too. Ianto couldn't remember the last time he'd slept here, or the last time he'd opened the windows behind the sofa to air the place out, to breathe some life into the space. 

The wind was blowing the wrong way for that now, though.

The air felt electric, magnetic as Ianto watched Jack strip off his coat, draping it haphazardly over the back of the sofa.

"It won't dry out like that," Ianto said, his fingers closing around the heavy wool collar. He crossed the room to place it properly on the coat rack that, if he were honest, he'd bought precisely for this purpose. It was a coat that needed a proper place to hang, after all. He fluffed out the collar with care, spreading the coat open so that the moisture would have ample opportunity to evaporate. 

Jack was right on his heels, warm breath already grazing against his ear and his neck before he'd even had a chance to remove his jacket. 

"You and that coat," Jack whispered, his lips quirking playfully though his eyes were dark as he snaked an arm around Ianto's waist. 

"You should take better care of it," Ianto offered, glancing up to meet Jack's eyes. 

"Why would I do that when I've got you?"

Ianto shook his head and let out a breath. 

Then he let Jack guide him to the sofa, even though his hair was dripping freezing cold droplets of water that left dark blue stains on Jack's shirt, on either side of his braces. He should get them a towel to dry off, should find Jack a change of clothes, but he couldn't find the energy, the motivation to move away from the warm body next to him. Jack was solid, and under Ianto's ear his heart thumped in his chest with a steadiness that made everything go quiet and still in Ianto's head, and made his face feel warm, even as he shivered against the chill of the flat.

“Sometimes,” Jack whispered, “I think you like that coat more than you like me.”

There was a vulnerability to Jack’s voice that startled Ianto, brightening his drooping eyes. He heard the message underneath, the need and the worry.

“Nope,” he answered, staring at the weave of the upholstery. He felt Jack’s fingers trace patterns in his hair and he wondered if they matched those of the fabric, or if they were symbols of a future language, maybe.

Ianto stretched his neck, rolled the tension from his shoulders, and lifted his head. “Coffee?” he asked, out of habit.

Jack chuckled. “I believe I was promised tea.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Ianto and kissed the space just above his ear.

Ianto scowled even as he melted into the softness of the touch. “You were promised no such thing, Jack.”

“Fine. But I’m going to make us some, anyway.”

With that, Jack lifted Ianto’s weight off of himself, gently, and slid out from beneath him. Ianto let Jack settle him back on the sofa and watched as he padded into the kitchen. It was strange to see Jack fill up the spaces of his tiny flat. He attacked it with a strange sort of grace, with the sharpness of a soldier, and danced across the area as though domesticity was a familiar, comfortable place.

It was entrancing, really, to watch Jack fill the kettle, to reach above his head and rummage through the high cupboards. The muscles in Jack’s arms stretched, bunched and tightened as he shifted the tins. They scraped and clanked together like chimes. Ianto wondered absently what he would choose, though the choice itself didn’t matter.

Incidentally, there were a lot of choices that had ceased to matter when it came to Jack these days. 

Jack, padding around his flat, rummaging in the cupboards for tea in the middle of the night, or Jack pressing Ianto's face unceremoniously into a pile of papers on his desk back in the Hub while he fumbled with the zip of his trousers. Jack's face, contorted in pleasure while Ianto ran his hands down the smooth expanse of his chest. There were no real choices anymore when it came to any of this.

Ianto's heart pounded in his chest as a dip in the sofa jostled him back to reality. Jack handed him a mug, steam rising from its depths, and settled in next to him. 

Jack's face was thoughtful, content, and Ianto watched him, absently letting his fingers close around the mug. He quickly unfurled them a moment later when he realized the tips were burning.

"Careful, it's hot," Jack said, chuckling a little. He nudged Ianto's side with his elbow. 

"Thank you, I think I've figured that part out on my own," he muttered, and then glanced at Jack, lowering his eyes. "And stop - I'm going to spill this." 

Jack nodded seriously for a moment, before he leaned forward to place his mug on the floor next to his feet. Then he leaned over to take Ianto's mug from his hands and carefully set it on the floor.

"Sorry, but you know me," Jack said softly, leaning in close, his hands framing Ianto's jaw, warm breath hovering against his lips. "Tell me to stop doing something, and I just..."

Ianto stared at him, trying to find the words to compose a full sentence of protest, something more than, “spilling…coaster…table,” even if it was sufficient enough for Jack to get the message. The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked up. Not the sharp angle that usually greeted the world, but a softer, warmer curve. Ianto closed his eyes instinctively.

Jack’s lips were unnaturally warm against his own; perhaps he’d taken a sip of tea before, or maybe Ianto’s lips were still chilled from the rain and the coolness of his flat. Either way, it was nice. He let Jack push him back along the sofa, felt Jack shift and rest on top of him, between his legs.

There was a thud and then a slosh, and the biting scent of orange peel and the bright warmth of bergamot flooded the room. It would stain the carpet, probably. Definitely, actually. Ianto didn’t much care.

Still, Jack froze above him, his muscles tense, and he pulled away slightly. Shy, apprehensive, as though Ianto had a habit of doing worse things than frowning disapprovingly when Jack made a mess. Ianto stifled a laugh, reaching a hand up to pull at Jack’s shirt, bring him closer.

“Doesn’t matter,” he whispered, and kissed him again.

Jack returned the kiss for a moment, before pulling back. “I should get something--"

“Doesn’t matter,” Ianto repeated, turning his face up to chase Jack’s mouth, which kept evading him.

Jack frowned and Ianto frowned in response, wondering when they’d switched roles and when he’d come to not care that dark, hot tea was seeping into the fibers of his meticulously clean carpet. Well, it smelled nice, at any rate.

He averted his eyes from Jack’s, and stared for a moment at the ceiling. There was a dust bunny, up in the corner over the window, and Ianto wondered, not for the first time, at the many changes his life had taken on since he’d started working for this man. If this continued, he might have to take Jack up on his offer of hiring someone to keep the flat clean. It wasn’t entirely his fault, he’d always argued; Jack simply kept him too busy.

He sighed and felt Jack shift on top of him, still frowning. Ianto propped himself up on his elbows until his nose was practically brushing against Jack’s chin.

“Always hated that rug,” he whispered, his lips finally capturing Jack’s and holding them. 

Jack deepened the kiss now, giving in to momentum (and gravity, Ianto supposed) when Ianto stopped holding himself up to sink back against the sofa. All the same, there was a languid quality to Jack’s movements as he settled against Ianto, and while Ianto rarely saw Jack give in to exhaustion (even after days spent on his feet, fueled only by a few minutes rest in the boardroom, or down in his bunker between emergencies), Ianto wondered if that wasn’t what was happening right now. 

He thought back through the past few days as Jack’s tongue slowly explored his mouth, unhurried and familiar, and suddenly realized that he had no idea when Jack had last slept.

They’d all been going non-stop since the incident with the night travelers. Jack had spent hours at the hospital dealing with the paperwork associated with everyone they couldn’t save. After that, when Ianto had practically collapsed on the sofa at the Hub, Jack had moved upstairs to his office, and his light had still been on when Ianto had woken up a few hours later. He tended to know when Jack slept, too, something about the lines around his eyes.

He allowed Jack one more toe-curling pass with his tongue, and then pulled away slightly. Jack’s eyes drooped, even as he moaned in protest.

“You’re exhausted,” Ianto managed, as Jack’s lips continued to nip at the corners of his mouth. 

Jack laughed. “Didn’t we already have this conversation tonight? The one where I’m tired and you’re tired and everyone’s tired?”

“Too tired to remember.” Ianto yawned, on cue. Jack laughed again.

“Alright, you. Bed. Now.”

Jack rose off of him slowly, as though his body ached (and it probably did). He picked up the mugs and placed them on the coffee table, on top of coasters without a reminder – he even went into the kitchen to grab a towel, and then made a hasty attempt at absorbing some of the spilled tea from earlier. Ianto thought it was the most romantic thing Jack had done all week. Whether that was a testament to Jack’s definition of romance or the value that Ianto placed on cleanliness, he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just tired.

He laughed with an edge of weary hysteria, and Jack shot him a concerned look. He merely shook his head in response before Jack grabbed his hand and levied him up.

Ianto stood up, off-balance as his equilibrium shifted. “So, tomorrow. Samples. Nitrogen. I’ll have a go at –”

Jack pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, long enough to shut him up but quick enough so that they didn’t end up back on the sofa for another hour. Ianto smiled against his mouth and pulled away.

“Right, I know. Bed.”

It was dark, but they managed to stumble the few feet to the bedroom. They didn’t bother to turn on a light, simply stripping off their clothes and tossing them into untidy piles by their respective sides of the bed. Jack beat him (Jack _always_ beat him) and flopped into bed, turning down Ianto’s side of the duvet like he always did when the night deemed that the bed’s purpose was only sleep, rather than sex. Ianto smiled and marveled a little at the routine, at the familiar way Jack’s arm clamped possessively around his waist as though something would break into the flat during the night and try to steal him away, the way Jack’s nose and mouth pressed against the back of Ianto’s neck at just the right angle to be able to continue breathing.

Sure, Ianto would wake up alone, usually, but it would be to the sound of the shower or the soft rumble of television or something sizzling in a pan on the stove. And that wasn’t really a bad way to wake up at all.


	3. Chapter 3

It was just gone nine the next morning when Gwen poked her head around Ianto’s work station.

“Long night?” she asked, looking curious, as well as a little distracted, her eyes half on her mobile. “Waiting on a call from the station,” she explained apologetically. “Andy’s had a hell of a night last night—two weevils outside a pub in Newport attacked these tourists—lost, from the looks of it--and Jack’s left it up to me to iron out the details. You look absolutely knackered, though,” she added, frowning sympathetically. “Everything okay?”

Ianto shrugged and thought that he really needed to see about getting them some stronger coffee for mornings like this. Nothing worse than being told you looked like hell. 

“Jack and I were out late working on a case,” he explained.

Gwen raised her eyebrows. “I thought he looked happy this morning.”

“I don’t--”

“No, we should all be thanking you!” she continued, an appreciative smile spreading over her features. “Tosh and I were ready to up and walk out of here last night - he’s been impossible lately.”

“He’s tired,” Ianto said quickly, without really thinking, and then wondered if he should be regretting it at the look of surprise on Gwen’s face. Jack would have his head if she said something to him next.

“Is that even possible?”

“Yes, of course,” Ianto told her, and was about to attempt to explain, when he caught the time on his computer and sighed. 

He should have been out at the bay an hour ago collecting samples. And if it hadn’t been for Jack’s incessant need to make a full breakfast for them out of whatever Ianto happened to have on hand every single time he stayed over, he might have been. Jack was so proud of his cooking, though, that Ianto never quite had it in him to turn him down.

Gwen shook her head in disbelief. “No, you’re right. Sorry. Everything that’s been happening lately, of course. We’re all tired, aren’t we?”

Ianto let out a sigh and smiled politely. “Sorry, I really should go and—“

“Right, right, sorry. What is it you guys are working on, anyway? Anything I can help with?”

Ianto was about to decline, adamantly, but then thought better of it. Really, he could use a spare set of hands and Jack was going to be tied up with reports that needed approval and conferences and general meandering around the Hub, looking vaguely important. Besides, he liked Gwen and her industriousness. A fresh set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.

“Well, I’m headed to the bay to collect water samples,” he started and watched her nose scrunch up in confusion. “We’re testing for nitrogen.”

“We do that now?” she asked.

“When it involves a case, yes. I also need to test the rainwater and our water system. But I need fresh rainwater, and it hasn’t rained since last night.”

“Do you want me to collect samples from the basin, then?”

Ianto nodded. “You’ll have to test it as soon as possible. I don’t know if it’ll matter, really, but nitrogen dissolves in water over time.”

“Right,” she said, beaming, as she shoved her phone in her pocket, Andy all but forgotten. “But how do I test it?”

“There are some nitrate/nitrite test strips in Owen’s kit. We’re going to have to bring him in on this later to interpret them, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Gwen nodded and turned, ready to flee. She turned back quickly. “Why nitrogen, again?”

“Celluloid is made of nitrogen,” he answered, taking a long draught of his coffee.

She nodded again, as though this explained everything (and maybe it did, maybe she’d long since made the connection and this was only her confirmation – he wouldn’t put it past her). He watched her scamper to the medical bay as he collected his own tools: vials, test strips, gloves, a funnel, and something that looked like a ladle.

A warm, firm hand pressed to his shoulder. Ianto leaned into the touch instinctively for a moment.

“I love it when you talk science.” Jack’s voice was pitched low, presumably so that only Ianto had the privilege of hearing him, though it was hardly a guarantee.

Ianto rolled his eyes, and turned to meet Jack’s gaze. “Could you be any more predictable?” He shook his head in disbelief, though if he were honest, he found Jack’s ridiculous come-on lines more than a little endearing. At least as long as they were directed at him.

“How many times has that line actually worked, anyway?” Ianto finished, raising an eyebrow.

Jack grinned, but didn’t move his hand. The attention was starting to make Ianto a little twitchy.

“Twice, actually,” Jack was saying. “If you must know, I filled in on a field mission once, with the chief scientific officer of the Royal--”

Ianto cleared his throat and tried to shrug off Jack’s grip. “Time is of the essence, Jack. I’ve really got to be off if we want to have any chance that these samples won’t end up completely compromised.” 

Jack nodded, but didn’t make any moves to attend to, well, anything. Ianto sighed. He glanced at his watch and then to Jack in confusion. “What happened to the conference call with UNIT?”

“Cancelled.”

“Come on then,” he decided, handing Jack a package of vials and the ladle. He rummaged in the drawer next to his desk until he found an extra set of gloves, too, in case Jack actually ended up helping instead of just following him around. “You’re with me.”

Jack grinned indulgently and stepped aside, letting Ianto lead the way out of the Hub. They went via the tourist center and Ianto stopped briefly to tidy some pamphlets, the top half of the pile having slid a bit to the left. He was tired, perhaps even more so than yesterday, as the scant hours of sleep he’d gotten were merely a tease rather than any sort of actual rest. Still, the prospect of getting somewhere with this excited him and he wanted to prolong the experience of control.

The air was cool and early-morning bright, the sun less bronze and more crystal. It woke him up a little, stronger even than the coffee he’d had. He closed his eyes and let the breeze from the water hit his face.

He felt Jack step directly behind him, close enough to feel warmth seeping through his jacket, though they weren’t touching. He smiled to himself at the thought of being shadowed, followed, even though this was hardly a dangerous mission.

“See?” Jack said, a grin tingeing the edges of his voice. “This is what daylight is like. Isn’t it nice?”

Ianto snorted and shook his head. He saw daylight every morning he drove into work. It was enough.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jack asked.

“Well, get water and test it for nitrogen. Give the strips to Owen to determine if it’s more or less than average, if there’s a high concentration. And then, I guess, we go from there.”

Jack gasped dramatically. “Ianto Jones, without a solid plan?”

From behind him, Ianto could hear a slight ringing, like sonar. “What are you doing?”

“Scanning you. I’m worried you may have been possessed by an alien.”

Ianto turned to face Jack, who held his hands up innocently and grinned.

“Right. Well, I’ve done some research. Nitrate reactions in fresh water can cause oxygen depletion.”

Jack blinked for a moment and then nodded proudly. “And if the night travelers are nitrogen-based life forms, but need oxygen, it’s a surprise that they’ve managed to survive at all. Which could explain the need to steal breath, and the need for water. We’ll see what Tosh has to say later. Good work.”

Ianto gave a small smile, trying as hard as he could not to preen.

It wasn't often that he was given what pretty much amounted to full rein on something like this. In fact, he thought to himself, this might actually be the first time. Not that he'd tried in the past and failed, it was nothing like that; it just hadn't ever come up. 

And now that it had, it was almost as if Jack was enjoying giving him this responsibility. Ianto recognized that he didn't have to. It was hardly up to Ianto’s methodology - more like a shot in the dark, if anything - but here was Jack, following him out to the bay to collect water samples that in all likelihood wouldn't tell them a bloody thing, and grinning at the passing tourists as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Maybe they did need to get out in daylight more, he thought, glancing out over the sparkling water. The bright expanse of the bay, the call of the seagulls, the relaxed stroll of the couples out with their prams and their pets, seeing this scenery for the first time, maybe. It was nice, being out here, experiencing the view for once instead of being buried underneath it. 

And they had work to do. 

He sighed and turned to Jack. 

"I was thinking the best place to start might be over by the jetty there," he told Jack, already heading towards the collection of small tourist and fishing boats. 

They were halfway there when he stopped in front of a sign, which urged them enthusiastically to consider a day trip to Flat Holm Island. He shot Jack a knowing glance. 

"Three-hour trips for only twenty quid per person. It's a real bargain."

Jack frowned. "Ever since they started with these tourist boats, I've had to nearly double the staff out there during the day..." 

"I could make a call. Maybe report a few particularly poisonous indigenous plants along the shore?"

Jack laughed. "I may take you up on that someday," he said, chuckling as they continued down the boardwalk.

"Well, here we are then," Ianto said a moment later, after nodding to a familiar fisherman, who nodded back to them under a tattered, sun-bleached hat. 

Ianto had always found something surprisingly comforting about the handful of old men who spent day after day hanging out on the bay. That their days could be spent so peacefully, even this close to the rift, had to count for something, right? 

He turned to Jack once he'd laid the vials out at his feet along the edge of the jetty. "Shall we get started, then?"

Jack nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

A gull landed on a wet rock less than a foot away from Jack and cried at them, expecting the ritual offering of some chips or a piece of bread. It spread its wings and hopped impatiently. Ianto set his kit down near it and it flew off.

“Hand me a vial and set up the rest here. Get the test strips ready.”

Jack stared out at the water, frowning like he did when assessing a threat and determining whether it was safe to send someone in head first. Then he nodded and reached into the pack, removing one of the vials and the ladle Ianto would need. He looked at the ladle for a moment, then at Ianto’s suit, and laughed.

“Only you. You could just dip the vial in, you know?”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “And contaminate the evidence. Good idea.”

Jack settled the materials down carefully as Ianto tugged off his jacket. He was surprised when Jack appeared behind him to take it, and he rolled up his sleeves as Jack draped it over a sign post.

“There’s a towel in the pack,” he said. “Could you grab it?”

It felt strange to guide Jack so directly, used to the quiet suggestions and gentler prodding that was akin to herding cats. It was nice, the way Jack backed off easily, encouragingly, but it still left Ianto feeling less sure-footed than usual.

Jack pulled the towel out of the pack and handed it to Ianto. He folded it and placed it down near the water’s edge, lowering himself until he knelt on it. Jack handed him the ladle and a vial and then disappeared. Ianto could hear the soft clink of the glass being set up on the stone and was silently grateful that each vial was nearly indestructible. He felt Jack’s eyes on him, the heat of his stare, as if Ianto collecting water from the bay was the most erotic thing Jack had ever seen. Ianto smiled to himself.

The whole process couldn't have taken more than fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes, but by the time it was all said and done, there was a thin sheen of sweat collecting on Ianto's brow. The air that had been brisk and clear had turned downright warm in the sun. 

He carried his jacket, folded neatly over his arm, as they made their way back to the Hub. 

At Jack's insistence, they chose to take the longer, more scenic route back, and the shade of the trees once they got past the main section of boardwalk was a welcome relief from the sun, which was still rising to its full height over the bay. It was a good thing he'd sent Gwen to collect the samples from the basin now, he thought, because if the nearly cloudless sky over the bay was any indication, it actually might be a while until they saw rain again. 

They continued down the path to the church before they looped back again, taking the higher walkway when they could. 

"It's shadier," Ianto explained. He rolled his eyes when Jack just shrugged at him, as if he wasn't sweating under that ridiculous coat, too. 

The whole thing was strange, really, an odd sort of role reversal, and through it all, Jack had just watched him, as if he was soaking it all in. It was disconcerting. 

"What?" Ianto asked suspiciously as he reached into his pocket for the key to the tourist center. Jack was staring at him again, much like he had when they were down at the water. 

Jack tilted his head toward Ianto appraisingly as he followed him through the door. 

"You're good at this, that's all. It's kind of..." 

Ianto tried to busy himself with setting his bag of samples on the desk so that he'd have something to do other than gape at Jack for actually being at a loss for words.

"Fascinating," Jack admitted finally, a strange smile on his face. 

“Ah,” Ianto said and nodded firmly. “You didn’t think I could handle it, then?”

“What?” Jack frowned. “No! That’s not it.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair, tugging the ends straight up. It was cool inside, though the air was stale with immobility. Ianto toggled the controls back and forth on the A/C. The vents weren’t properly circulating again; they’d need to be fixed, cleaned out before summer snuck up on them. The first heat wave last year had been awful.

Ianto waited expectantly for Jack to clarify, but no explanation seemed to be forthcoming. He was tempted to step right into Jack’s face, grab the lapels of his coat, and demand it from him. That never worked, though. Not that he’d ever tried.

Jack crossed to the display of brochures and picked up one outlining the various adventures one could have around Snowdonia. He thumbed through it carefully with all of the laser-like focus of someone pretending to read.

“We should go sometime,” he said, finally looking up, and Ianto shook his head with a smile.

“We will; there’s bound to be an alien up there eventually.”

“No, I mean just us. Take a weekend, rent a cottage. There’re log cabins there, right by an estuary. It’d be nice. Relaxing.”

Ianto smoothed his hands over his jacket, undoing the wrinkles that had formed when he’d carried it back. He put it on and looked at Jack with an expression that meant work and business and severity. He tempered it with a small smile.

“You don’t know how to relax. We should get these to Owen, see how Gwen made out.”

“I could learn how to relax,” Jack offered, sounding thoughtful as they made their way into the expanse of the Hub’s main room, the cog door grinding shut with a thick thud behind them.

“You could also learn Welsh,” Ianto responded, not quite meeting Jack’s eyes. “But I haven’t seen _that_ happen yet.”

It wasn’t that the idea of a quiet weekend alone with Jack didn’t sound nice. It did, in a way. Ianto just knew it would never happen. Jack had excellent intentions, but the fact of the matter was, well, this was Torchwood. They didn’t exactly have weekends at Torchwood, for one thing.

Gwen was sitting at her workstation and she smiled at Ianto as he and Jack approached.

“So how’d it go?” Ianto asked, trying not to sound overly eager.

“Already working on her results now,” Owen called up from the autopsy bay.

“No problems then?” Ianto asked, eyes half-following Jack, who was already heading towards Owen.

Gwen shook her head. “It’s a slow day for Owen, or so he says, so he was happy to help. A little _too_ happy, if you ask me.”

“Probably makes him nostalgic for his days at uni,” Ianto observed.

“Not sure if I can imagine Owen in a research lab though, you know?” Gwen frowned, and then flashed Ianto a sympathetic smile as Jack shouted his name above the din of the Hub’s ambient noise.

“Ianto!” Jack called again, and Ianto couldn’t quite tell if he was excited, or just impatient. “Come look at this!” 

“Right, so like I told Jack,” Owen said, once Ianto had made his way downstairs to what had clearly been appropriated into a makeshift lab, “Nitrite and nitrate concentrations in Gwen’s samples are relatively normal. A little on the high side, about 0.6 parts per million, but that’s not entirely uncommon for this type of water. What’s interesting, though, is that this water has been sitting there for going on, what, twelve hours now? It’s a bit of an unusually high concentration given that, but what I’m really going to need is to compare these to what you collected from the bay.”

Owen fixed them with an impatient smile.

“Er, right,” Ianto replied, bending over to retrieve the used test strips and a sample vial of bay water. “So, your conclusion right now is that you have no conclusion?”

Owen scowled. “Well, there’s the normal nitrogen cycle to consider; when things die, proteins are broken down by different bacteria, essentially forming nitrate and nitrite. The levels in the sample were higher than what they should be in similar environments, but those similar environments are lacking in one thing.”

“The rift.”

“Got it. And therefore, aliens with different protein structures living and dying over centuries. And that’s where you come in. There may be data sets of nitrate/nitrite readings in the archives. I’ll check out your strips and we’ll go from there.”

Ianto nodded and started for the archives.

“Ianto,” Owen called. “Why are we doing this?”

Turning around, Ianto shrugged. “They’re a part of Jack’s past. I want them gone.”

*****

Despite his superb system of organization, searching for something as benign as readings of nitrogen levels in the Torchwood archives was proving harrowing for Ianto. He’d pulled stacks of files from numerous decades, all detailing sample analysis, and was seated at the small metal table, poring through each one for anything to do with nitrogen. It was cool and dry, blissfully climate controlled, but the air was stale recycling. And he was exhausted.

“Coming up for daylight any time soon?”

Ianto started at the voice and then suppressed a smile. He looked up at Jack’s shaded form in the doorway and nodded.

“Eventually. I’ve still got to get through the nineteen twenties through present day. I’ve found some old data, mostly from the late nineteenth century, but I wanted to see if there’s anything more recent.”

Jack crossed over to him. “Have you eaten?”

“This morning, remember?” he replied absently as he flipped through another file. He grunted in frustration and tossed it on top of the ever-growing stack to be put away.

“Ianto, it’s almost two. I – _we_ haven’t seen you since this morning. The files aren’t going anywhere. Bring up what you have, give it to Owen, and relax.”

"I just want to make sure he has the data he needs to make a suitable comparison," Ianto said, adding one more file to the top of the pile and watching as it wobbled precariously on top of the cabinet next to him. He sighed and quickly reshuffled the files into two more stable stacks as Jack watched, looking on thoughtfully. 

"So what you said to Owen," Jack said offhandedly. "Was that true?"

Ianto sighed. He laid the rest of the files down and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair and staring up at Jack. 

"Calling me a liar, sir?" Ianto said, his tone amiable, and watched Jack smile as he moved around the small desk until he was behind him. Jack placed one hand on the back of Ianto's chair, and leaned back against the row of filing cabinets. Ianto turned a little in his seat so that he was almost facing him. 

"Just curious," Jack said. 

"It was the truth," Ianto said, letting out a deep breath when he felt Jack's hands move to his shoulders, fingers digging deep into his muscles, the pressure measured and familiar. "Though you knew that already." Ianto closed his eyes and moved his neck from side to side to release some of the tension there as Jack continued to knead. 

"You know, we might not find anything," Jack said. His voice was quiet, almost swallowed up in the acoustics of the small space. 

"You don't know that. Besides, the rift's been quiet these past few days. We have time."

Jack's fingers were relaxing his overactive mind as much as they were easing the strain on his muscles, and as Ianto stared at the stacks in front of him, he realized that he was quickly losing his determination. 

"And okay, you win." Ianto turned to Jack and raised his eyebrows. "Shall I order in something for a late lunch?" 

Jack smiled and kept his hands, still now, on Ianto’s shoulders. “We could go out, if you want.”

“I’ll order in, it’s fine. I still have to finish up here, and then I’ve got to take care of the menagerie, and there’s the vent up in the tourist office that needs fixing before it starts getting too warm out, and the package of brochures –“

“Okay, okay,” Jack protested, holding his hands up defensively. “I get it. Did I ever mention you’re a workaholic?”

Ianto sighed and leaned back in his seat. He pretended not to notice the flicker of disappointment in Jack’s eyes as he closed his file with a resolute snap and pushed it away from him. “Just because I want to order in doesn’t mean I won’t take a break. But by the time we get there, get seated, place our orders, eat, and get back, hours will be completely lost and then you’ll just want to take me home, anyway.”

Frowning, Jack stepped back and propped himself against the desk, his arms folded across his chest.

“Which is fine,” Ianto hastened to add. “I just need to get to a good stopping point with all of this.”

“I know,” Jack sighed. “I don’t want you to get too caught up, though. Not for me.”

“Too bad. Now, lunch?”

Jack smiled and nodded. “Bring up the files you have; Owen can start comparing while we eat. At least walk with me to pick up takeout? You’ve been down here too long.”

“I’ve still got to put all of these away and – ”

Ianto was tugged forward by his shirt, his lips pressed firmly against Jack’s. The angle was awkward, uncomfortable and a bit sloppy, but it served its purpose.

“Fine,” Ianto said, smiling a little as he caught his breath. “We’ll go on your walk.”

Jack’s smile brightened and he extended his hand, backing away so that Ianto could get up out of his chair.

Outside, the air was surprisingly refreshing. It had cooled off significantly, too – the morning’s warmth had given way to an afternoon breeze that wasn’t quite brisk yet, but was definitely leaning in that direction. They went by way of the invisible lift this time and, as they stepped out onto the Plass, Jack hooked his arm around Ianto’s elbow. The gesture surprised Ianto and he paused for a moment just before stepping off of the paving stone.

“Stop that,” Jack told him quietly. “You’re going to confuse the perception filter.”

“I doubt that very much,” Ianto replied drily. He leaned against Jack’s shoulder briefly before their arms drifted apart, more grateful for the fresh air and the company than he thought he’d be.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack’s features soften, and his lips quirk up briefly into a satisfied smile.

*****

“Owen’s running a second set of tests on your samples from the bay,” Jack told Ianto around a mouthful of pizza that was stacked so high with toppings, Ianto wondered how Jack had managed to fit it into his mouth, let alone hold a conversation before swallowing. “He mentioned it when I gave him the files from downstairs.”

Distracted, Ianto nodded and then leaned over to catch a rogue piece of sausage just before it managed to escape onto Jack’s trousers.

They’d had to wait an extra ten minutes for the pizzas once they’d arrived, and Ianto now wondered if that extra time had been spent procuring the greasiest sausage in the city, just for them.

“I keep telling you to use a _plate_ ,” Ianto remarked, frowning, as he wiped his hands vigorously on his napkin.

“Anyway, he should be up in a few,” Jack finished a little sheepishly, as took the politely proffered paper plate from Ianto’s hand. “Hopefully he’ll have some news for us.”


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Owen arrived with his results, the pizza was nearly gone (which was an impressive feat, considering that Gwen had gone home already, and Tosh had declined in favor of a salad at her desk). Ianto had been about to head back down to the archives to finish his research, having left briefly to tend to Myfanwy’s feeding, when Jack called him back to the boardroom.

“I,” Owen was telling Jack proudly, “am a genius.” Owen nodded to Ianto, who quirked an eyebrow at him curiously. “See, I thought something was a little off with these readings – call it a hunch – and so I went back and did a few more tests.”

Jack waved Owen on impatiently.

“Basically, there’s something else in here, another component that’s off the charts and isn’t in any of the previous results. I’m going to need to start more testing, but I’m also going to need a larger sample base. A longer period of time, more areas, so that once I figure out what we’re looking at, I can compare results.”

Ianto nodded. “It’s bound to rain soon, right? I’ll collect rainwater and check out that pool. I’ll see if Gwen can think of any other locations, too.”

Jack smiled at him, a curious expression on his face that, despite not being able to actually identify it, made Ianto’s heart skip rapidly. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll get started on a log, too,” he continued.

“I can do that!” Tosh piped up and all three turned their heads to look at her. “What? I get to play too, right?”

Laughing, Jack nodded. It seemed odd to Ianto that they couldn’t work together on something life threatening or apocalyptic, but give them all a banal pet project, and they were seamless. Jack put an arm around him and, instead of shrugging it off, Ianto simply ignored its presence and turned his attention to Toshiko.

“Thanks, Tosh. I appreciate it.”

She beamed brilliantly and then turned back to her keyboard. Owen nodded once and then retreated down into his shiny, stainless-steel lair. Jack pulled Ianto closer.

“Finish up here and then we’ll go to that pool. And then….” he trailed off with an unusual level of uncertainty.

“Home,” Ianto stated, firmly. “I’m exhausted.”

He didn’t expect Jack’s face to relax into a broad grin, not for an answer that implied sleep and nothing else, but that’s exactly what happened. He wasn’t sure what he had said, but he was glad he said it.

*****

Reenergized as he was from their walk, and the food, and probably just a little from Jack's curious behavior, Ianto's remaining work down in the archives went quickly. He'd made his way through most of the twentieth century in just under an hour. Data from the past forty years, which was haphazardly charted at best, took a little longer, but it wasn't quite dark yet by the time he made his way upstairs.  
He was surprised to find everyone still hard at work. Tosh was bent over her keyboard, poking her head up here and there to check the monitors, as a string of numbers flashed across the screen, and he could hear Owen cursing under his breath down in the autopsy room.

He glanced up to Jack's office and was surprised to find Jack watching him oddly. He went up and leaned surreptitiously on the doorframe. 

"You were staring at me, sir?" 

Jack chuckled as Ianto dug his hands in his pockets and entered. 

"No more than usual," Jack said. He pushed back from his desk with a sigh and frowned at a rather large pile of papers on his desk as if they'd personally offended him. 

Ianto could see that the ones towards the top of the pile bore the dreaded UNIT letterhead. 

Jack shook his head and looked up at Ianto. "It's time to call it a night, I think." 

"Right. We should try to get to the pool before dark if we can." He glanced at the clock. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"So long as we don't get caught up in too many distractions this time."

Ianto snorted. "We'll do our best."

"Your best, or my best, because..." Jack was standing now, waggling his eyebrows as he strode over and allowed Ianto to help him into his greatcoat. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a bit of a difference." 

He whispered the last words into Ianto's ear, leaning in for a moment before he straightened again. Ianto tried his best not to react. Jack was out the door before Ianto had even realized he'd moved again. 

He jogged after him, his shoes clanging on the metal staircase, and stopped directly behind Jack as he was directing the team.

“- take samples from your faucets. Actually, I want all of you to do that. Take some more test strips. Owen, make out a requisition form for more if we’re running low and I still need that report from last week’s autopsy. Toshiko, I want an update on that database you’re creating.”

Ianto watched as Jack turned around, and fixed him with his most stoically curious expression, which caused Jack to smile brightly.

“What?” he asked. “It’s been slow. I haven’t been able to tell anyone what to do for a while now. Anyway. Ianto and I are heading to the pool at Ynysangharad Park where the night travelers were spotted. We’ll take some samples there. And then we’re going home. Toshiko, normal shut-down procedures before you all leave. I’ve already rerouted the rift monitor.”

Biting back a smile as she nodded, Tosh turned back to her computer. Jack was already halfway to the exit as Ianto collected his thoughts. Jack’s support was absolutely appreciated, of course it was, but it felt as though their entire relationship was shifting around them, altering its shape and creating a new space that Ianto wasn’t sure how to navigate. Still, he followed him out. He knew how to do that much.

As he was leaving, he heard Tosh whisper under her breath, “So it’s _home_ now.”

*****

When Ianto got to the car park, Jack was standing by the Audi with a small kit in his hand, like an impatient child. He smiled to himself and approached as silently as he could while Jack stared into the car, as though willing the doors to open themselves.

It was cloudy outside and, for perhaps the first time in his life, Ianto wanted it to rain more than anything. Then they could sneak out in the night, vials at the ready, and take as many samples as they could carry. They’d get wet, of course, soaked, the water trailing Jack’s face and down his neck, dripping off his hair, pooling at his upper lip, and…

Jack turned around and smiled at him, soft and welcoming, and so Ianto pushed him back against the car and kissed him.

Jack kissed him back, of course, and for a long moment that was all that mattered. Jack's lips, eager and encouraging, and Jack's mouth, warm and inviting. It was Jack, and it was normal, and they were going home later, and Jack had mentioned it to the team like it was nothing, like it wasn't a _thing_ at all, like it was just something they did. Like Gwen going home to Rhys every night. 

It sent an odd shiver down his spine, thinking of it like that. Jack tugged against the folds of his jacket to bring him closer and his hands moved along Ianto's jaw to steady him. Jack deepened the kiss for a moment before he leaned back to study Ianto, as if them kissing out here wasn't the fairly regular occurrence that it was, as if something about the whole thing had surprised him, and he was only just now figuring out what it was. 

His eyes were bright and clear and then he leaned forward and kissed Ianto's forehead and Ianto was sure it was ridiculous how much the gesture made his stomach twist and turn. He let out a quick laugh. He was expecting Jack to frown at him, and ask him what the hell was so funny, but he didn't. He just let out a little laugh of his own. Then he raised his eyebrows, and gestured over to the driver's door, while at the same time tugging Ianto a little closer by the waist. 

"You want to drive?"

"It _is_ my car," Ianto told Jack, but stayed right where he was, as if somehow rooted to the spot. 

"Still..."

"We should--" they both started, almost in unison, and then laughed. Jack shook his head and stared at him until finally Ianto sighed, and took a step back. 

"We should get to work," he said, trying to sound professional, though he wasn't sure if he'd quite succeeded. 

"You sound disappointed." Jack took a step back. 

Ianto crossed in front of the car and was about to open the door when he looked over at Jack, and then shrugged. "We'll have plenty of time later." He regretted it almost immediately at the look on Jack's face, which made him flush with color before he could stop himself. 

Jack just grinned. "Of course we will," he said. "I'll make sure of it." 

Ianto snorted and rolled his eyes, though he was smiling back. “I’m sure you will.” He opened the door and got in, aware that Jack was climbing into the car as well, sweeping in with a flash of grey-and-tan and the slam of the door.

After turning the key in the ignition, Ianto released the handbrake and shifted gears. He backed his car out of the spot, his arm around the back of Jack’s headrest as he looked out his rear windshield.

Jack placed a hand on Ianto’s thigh, just above his knee, as Ianto drove. Lisa used to do that, and while he loved her, the possessiveness of the gesture had made him anxious and uncomfortable. Still, he’d never asked her to remove it. But Jack’s hand was warm, reassuring – it felt like a physical manifestation of his support, like he was being steadied and guided.

He stopped at an intersection and looked over at Jack. He was staring out the window, perhaps at the people walking in and out of shops, or at the cars parked along the side of the road, or the patient dog tied to the leg of a café table. Jack’s hand squeezed his thigh and Ianto smiled.

“So,” Ianto said as the light changed and he began to drive again. “Final decision. Flat or pool?”

It was, he considered, a loaded question. Banality or adventure? A night of normalcy, or Torchwood? A cou – whatever they were, or protectors of the earth?

Jack gave a half shrug, his hand still resting on Ianto’s grey wool trousers. “You’re driving,” he said and smiled, relaxed in his seat. “I go where you take me.”

Ianto froze and then chuckled softly at the way Jack’s answer aligned with his own private musings. Out of the corner of his eye, Ianto saw Jack flash him a curious look, which made him laugh outright. “Sorry,” he apologized breathlessly. “Sorry. It’s just – you – I….”

“Yes?” Jack asked, and Ianto could _hear_ the smile in his voice, the barely restrained laughter like it was infectious, like Jack was just waiting for an excuse to let it out.

“Nothing, nothing.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I was just thinking of something. It was stupid.”

“You don’t do stupid, Ianto. What? Tell me.”

There was that damn smile again, curling the edges of Jack’s voice pleasurably. “What are we?” he blurted and then snapped his mouth shut, opened it again, closed it, and sighed. It was too late. The words were already out in the air, floating between them.

To Ianto’s great surprise, Jack was still smiling. He wasn't answering the question, but still...it was something. Jack was sitting there grinning to himself as if somehow he just couldn't contain the pleasure this question had provided. Ianto kept his eyes on the road, and gave his best attempt to rescind it all the same. 

"Never mind, Jack," he said, and watched the grin slide from Jack's face. "I don't think I want to know. Keep up the mystery and all that, right?" 

"Ianto," Jack said, and his voice was heavy, weighted as he moved his hand from Ianto's thigh to rest on his own lap, his fingers curled taut, like he wasn't sure what to do with them. "What do _you_ think we are?" he asked, and to Ianto's ears it sounded like an honest question, as if Jack really, truly wanted to know. 

"I... well," Ianto started, and pressed his foot on the gas a bit, because there was someone behind them, someone he had likely been making quite impatient as he crept along at well under the speed limit, oblivious. 

He sighed, stalling, and then Jack sighed, right before he ordered him to pull over. Ianto blinked at him, confused.

"I said, pull over. _Now_." 

Ianto did his best to comply, even though they weren't even out of the city yet, and of course, it wasn’t as if Duke Street would be able to accommodate them with a convenient lay-by. Maybe Jack was planning on conjuring one for him, he thought idly. It seemed like the sort of thing he'd be good at, in any case. 

Ianto rolled his eyes at the blare of a horn as he tried to get as far over to the shoulder as he could. After they'd jerked to a rather ungainly stop, Jack reached over him to switch on the hazards. 

"Jack?" Ianto asked. "Look, I'm sorry I said anything. It's not important," he told him. "You know that's not important to me."

"What's not?"

Ianto stared at Jack, who stared straight back at him, barely blinking. 

"Putting a label on things," Ianto said finally. He glanced in the rearview mirror nervously. "I'm going to get a ticket sitting here like this," he told Jack, shaking his head. 

"You're wrong," Jack said a second later, and Ianto couldn't tell if he was angry, or annoyed, or offended, or about a million other things that may or may not have been flashing in his eyes. "This isn't about putting a label on us."

"Oh?"

"It's about you.”

“Me?” Ianto echoed. He checked the mirror again because, really, the last thing he needed was some PC friend of Gwen’s to swing by while he and Jack were having a domestic.

“Yeah, you. Who else?” Jack smiled, or tried to, and the shallowness of it made Ianto nervous.

“What about me?”

Jack reached over and turned the radio on. Some bit of classical music was playing, and he turned the volume down slightly. Ianto felt like he was in a movie; soon the rain would fall and then…something would happen. But he didn’t know the lines, so he just looked at Jack.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

Jack shrugged, facing forward. “Helps me think. You know we only ever really talk when we’re in a car?”

“Yeah,” Ianto replied after considering it for a moment. “You’re right. But what about me, Jack?”

“I don’t know how to navigate you. I don’t know how to navigate _this_.”

It wasn’t raining yet, but the crescendo came all the same. If it _was_ a movie, the timing was poor.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for over a month now,” Jack continued quietly. “Why does this have to be a mystery?”

“We’re really rubbish at this, aren’t we?” Ianto scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “Do you want me to tell you what I want?”

Jack nodded, enthusiastically, hopefully, and Ianto’s heart sank.

“Too bad,” he said, “because I have no idea what I want. Some days I think it’d be so much easier if things went back to the way they were, back to when none of this meant anything, and then you’re gone for a day, a weekend, and I spend my time wishing you’d come back early. Sometimes, I blink and you’re making dinner, humming to yourself, smiling, and I just want that to stop surprising me. I want to be able to expect that, to have that be _boring_ and not the most exciting thing that’s happened to me all week.”

Ianto let out a breath after he finished. He’d been staring out the front windshield at the passing traffic as he spoke and he hazarded a glance to his left. Jack was staring straight ahead, his mouth quirked up just slightly, like Ianto had said the right thing for once.

Jack must’ve felt Ianto staring, because he turned and looked at him for a moment before grabbing a fistful of Ianto’s shirt and tie and pulling him forward until their lips almost touched.

“You know what I want, Ianto Jones?” he whispered.

Ianto swallowed once, convulsively, and shook his head.

“I want that to _never_ stop being the most exciting thing that’s happened to you all week.”

It began to rain as Jack crushed their mouths together.

When Ianto’s brain finally managed to find its way back online, he remembered that they had been waiting for it to rain, and that the fact that it was raining was a very good thing.

He also remembered that they were parked in the middle of the road on a major street and were most definitely going to get a ticket or worse if they stayed here much longer. The rain wasn’t exactly helping, either. A large vehicle swished around them and the Audi shuddered a little in its wake. Jack’s lips were still pressed up against his, and Ianto marveled at the wonderful weirdness of it for a moment, and then another, just for good measure, before he finally pulled away.

“We need to move,” he told Jack, somewhat apologetically, as he shifted back into his seat. Then he paused.

There were a lot of things rattling around in his brain; it made it hard to focus. If they did this enough, maybe these half-formed thoughts would start to make some kind of sense to both of them. Maybe these conversations would hold – they’d stick, and they’d gel into something for them to fall back on, later. They were both so bad at this, and Ianto knew that, but he still couldn’t help but feel like this was some sort of progress. It _felt_ like progress, anyway.

The rain was picking up steam outside. He switched on the wipers and watched the world turn a little less blurry. He turned to Jack.

“Want to go home? Make dinner, maybe head out to the pool later on?”

His voice was nervous, breathless, and he had no idea why. But he knew he was tired of holding back. Maybe he’d been tired of holding back for a very, very long time. Just this once, he wanted to _leave it_. The rift alerts and the weevils and the samples - all of it.

The thought terrified him. But it also felt like the best idea he’d had in days.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack’s eyes were still half-closed and his mouth half-quirked and his torso pushed forward as though he had been frozen mid-movement. Ianto watched him blink and gradually lean back, lazily, watched his mouth relax into a full smile. Finally, he turned the ignition over and began to inch his way back into traffic. The wipers swept a river’s worth of water off his windshield and came back too soon, squeaking loudly.

“Yeah. We could do that,” he said. “Gwen lives close to you, right?”

Ianto frowned, but kept watching the road. “Are we inviting her to dinner?”

Jack was oddly quiet, but Ianto couldn’t risk taking his eyes away from the length of space that was inching closer. With one quick flick of his wrist and appropriately applied pressure to the pedal, he swooped in gracefully. Finally, he glanced over.

“You’re always so practical until you feel threatened, you know that?” Jack chuckled. “No, I was thinking we could have her go check it out. She could bring Rhys.”

“He’d like that,” Ianto said, smiling fondly, and then he frowned. “But I don’t feel threatened.”

Jack’s hand found its way back to his leg, a firm pressure rather than teasing strokes, as though one of them was anchored to the other. It was a nice feeling, really, and maybe it was a little possessive. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Jack was humming along with the soft music on the radio, something Ianto didn’t instantly recognize, which wasn’t saying much as he didn’t recognize most classical pieces. It went with the rain, though, and the beat of the wipers and the slosh of the other cars.

“We don’t have much,” Jack said mid-hum.

Ianto blinked at the taillights of the car in front of him, trying to decipher the cryptic message until he just gave up. “We? What?”

“To cook, at home. There’s just some tins of soup and dried pasta and things, but I don’t think there’s any sauce. And I think the milk’s about to go off, and we used the last of the bread the other day.”

Ianto considered this for a moment. The sky had darkened considerably. He switched on the lights and then turned the wipers up a notch, too, while he was at it.

“There’s a Tesco’s just up here on the left,” he told Jack. He dug back into his memory, trying to figure out if he’d ever seen Jack set foot in a Tesco’s before. It seemed like some kind of strange anachronism, though he was sure it had to happen from time to time. After all, Jack had, on very rare occasions, been known to procure last minute supplies for the Hub. He had to have gotten them from somewhere.

Jack just murmured some kind of agreement, his attention still on the radio, and whatever piece it was they were playing.

“Schubert,” he said eventually, after the piece had ended. “Trout Quintet. One of my favorites…”

Ianto nodded, a little blankly, at the sheet of rain that was washing back and forth across the windshield. “I’m not all that familiar with Schubert,” he offered, feeling a bit out of his depth. He suddenly wished he’d paid more attention in some of those compulsory music classes back when he’d had the chance.

Jack squeezed his knee. “We should take in a concert or two every once in a while. The university has evening chamber concerts on Tuesdays.” Jack raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Ianto blinked again, glancing in his side mirror as he changed lanes. “Sure,” he told Jack, surprised by the tiny bubble of excitement that rippled in his chest at the thought. “Rift permitting, of course,” he added, with just a quirk of a smile.

“Of course.” Jack grinned. “You’ll like it, I promise.” 

Ianto couldn’t help but agree.

As they pulled into the Tesco car park, the rain eased a little, as if sensing their approach.

“I’ll call Gwen,” Jack told him as they stepped out of the car. “Let her know we’ll be over in,” he glanced at his watch, “less than thirty minutes to drop off the kit for her and Rhys. She should have test strips, but who knows what she’ll find out at the pool – they’re better off taking it all.”

Ianto nodded and then glanced up at the darkening sky. Together they made a run for it, jogging across the length of the car park in between the slowing raindrops. 

They were wet when they got to the doors and the blast of cold air that hit them was startling. Music was playing, something Ianto couldn’t distinguish that was probably supposed to increase his desire to spend money. He stood, considering the best way to tackle the list he had mentally composed on the short drive over, when he realized Jack had wandered off to collect a trolley. Sighing, he walked over.

“Do we really need it?” he asked and Jack grinned.

“Can’t hurt, right?”

“No, I suppose not. I could pick up the biscuits Gwen asked for, and we need more –”

Jack cut him off with a glare. “No. We’re not buying stuff for the Hub now.”

“But –”

“We’re buying things for the flat.”

Ianto frowned even as his heart stuttered a bit in his chest. There it was again. ‘Home,’ not ‘Ianto’s.’ ‘The’ flat, not ‘your’ flat. And sure, Jack had his things there, that was simply _practical_. But now he had somehow managed to verbally move himself in and – and it had never occurred to Ianto to correct him, even now.

“So,” he said, ignoring it in favor of something less terrifying, “I’ll have to make two trips to the store instead of one?”

Jack just shook his head, bemused, like Ianto wasn’t getting something important and _that_ was unnerving. He walked off, pushing the trolley, and Ianto followed. Jack stopped in front of a display of dark red apples, apparently on sale and stacked in a way that encouraged toppling, and turned to Ianto.

“I pay you to shop for supplies,” he said quietly and Ianto stared. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Depends. Who’s cooking?”

Jack leaned forward slightly, smiling, until their faces were inches apart. “Me.”

“Well,” Ianto cleared his throat, “then whatever you feel like cooking will be fine. And you still need to call Gwen.”

*****

By the time they finally pulled up to Ianto's flat, he was starving, despite their late lunch back at the Hub. To be honest, even before all of this had started with the water samples and the test strips, his eating habits hadn't exactly been regular. He'd gotten used to grabbing whatever he could get his hands on between long shifts at the Hub, and then once he was there, it was pizza or cheap Indian carryout from around the corner. This was probably the first day in weeks where he'd even come close to having three full meals in a twenty-four-hour period.

The fact that they'd all involved Jack was not lost on him.

He brought in the mail and handed Jack his key so that he could start on unloading the groceries. As he approached the door, he flipped idly though the envelopes - bill, political advert (as he if had the time or interest to concern himself with local politics), another bill, and an obscenely oversized set of coupons for the local drycleaners. He folded the coupons neatly and slid them into his jacket pocket as he opened the door to his flat.

Jack was already unpacking the groceries and humming to himself. Not the same tune as in the car-- _Trout_ , he remembered--something else. 

Ianto's mobile buzzed in his pocket.

"Hi Gwen," he answered, depositing the mail on the coffee table and toeing off his shoes. "What's going on? You find everything alright?"

A few minutes later, Ianto watched in a state of awe as Jack sautéed at least three varieties of mushrooms in a skillet that he hadn't seen outside of his cupboard in years.

"Everything okay with Gwen?" Jack asked, looking up at Ianto, the mushrooms sizzling in the pan on the stove. It was so normal, Ianto was speechless for a moment.

"She..." he started, and then cleared his throat. "She's fine. Rhys broke one of the vials, and she wanted to know if she needed to find a store open out that way for a replacement. I told her it wasn't necessary, though how he managed to do it, I have no idea. They’re supposed to be almost indestructible."

Jack nodded. "At this point, the water out there is just for comparison anyway. And it's likely Owen will find the same results from one vial as he would from twenty collected at that pool."

"That's exactly what I told her."

Ianto watched Jack wheel around on his heels, reaching for some spice that he must have picked up on their grocery run, because Ianto didn't recognize it at all. Jack raised his eyebrows at Ianto curiously as he sprinkled a little of the mystery powder into the pan.

Ianto just shook his head. He had no idea who this man breezing around his kitchen as if he owned the place even _was_ anymore.

And it was absolutely the most exciting thing that had happened to him all week. By a long shot. 

Almost as though he had been enchanted, Ianto stepped forward and pressed himself against Jack’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist. Jack stilled and they stood like that for a moment before Ianto stepped away.

“It smells good,” he said, his voice rough. He opened the door to the refrigerator and rummaged around, pulling out a slender cobalt bottle.

Jack grinned. “Told you there was some left!”

“It’s an ice wine,” he muttered, regarding the label and rolling the bottle around in his hands. “It’s meant for dessert.”

“Then we’ll have it with dessert.” Jack shrugged and turned back to the stove, adding rice and a bit of heated broth and wine to the saucepan. “I don’t think I’ll use all of the white. We can drink that.”

Ianto nodded, even though Jack couldn’t see him, and put the bottle back in the refrigerator. He stretched and watched as Jack stirred, and added, and tasted. It was a bit hypnotizing, like staring at passing traffic out of a window. Jack was an assured, strong presence, standing on the faded linoleum, but he didn’t take any of it seriously. The way he just added blindly, without measuring, made Ianto twitch even as it held him fascinated.

“How do you know what to do?” he asked. He walked over to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet. He settled it on the counter and reached over Jack to remove two crystal tumblers. He poured a measure of liquid into each glass and handed one to Jack.

“I don’t,” Jack said and took the drink. “I mean, I know enough of the technical and the rest I just make up as I go.” Their hands brushed against each other and Jack smiled softly. “I just guess based on what goes well together, trial and error. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, and I learn from the mistakes.”

Ianto blinked dazedly, wondering whether Jack was talking about cooking or something more, and raised the tumbler to his lips to stall for time. Jack lifted his drink, too.

“To…” Jack paused, as if in deep thought, and then shrugged. “Well, to this,” he said, gesturing around the kitchenette with his free hand.

"To my kitchen," Ianto said seriously, enjoying the pleasant warmth that crept down his throat from the alcohol, and smiled at Jack. "Don't think I've ever toasted to my kitchen before."

Jack laughed and the sound filled the space. Then he shrugged, gesturing to the room around them, which, of course, included Ianto, too.

"Well, I like it," Jack said and went back to stirring, glancing at Ianto. 

"Me, too," Ianto said quietly. "I like it a lot. Kind of snuck up on me, but..." 

Ianto shuffled his feet back and forth on the floor, not sure why he was suddenly buzzing with nervous energy. This was dangerous, uncharted territory, much like a lot of the past few days had been, and when he started thinking about it that way, it only made him more jumpy. It was as if a trajectory had been set at some point and they just kept moving along in the direction that'd been decided - no matter how many times they veered away from it along the way, they always ended up here.

When he looked up again, after taking a generous sip from his drink and savoring the burn as it warmed his throat and settled in his stomach, Jack was watching him, fixing him with a strange smile. 

"It snuck up on me, too," Jack said, and Ianto thought he might like to bury himself under the coffee table in the living room, maybe - anything to hide the ridiculous heat creeping into his cheeks. He knew Jack would notice. Jack _always_ noticed.

He just turned away for a moment, though, reaching for the salt before he resumed stirring. The muscles under Jack's shirt shifted, his shoulders, his stomach. Ianto watched, distracted, and wondered if he was still blushing. 

"I like it, though," Jack said finally. "The surprise. Not knowing what comes next." He raised his eyebrows at Ianto. "Wouldn't have it any other way, really."

“Yeah?” Ianto asked. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Good,” Jack said, as though Ianto had answered an important question, and then he chuckled hollowly. “I’m not sure what I’d do if you didn’t.”

It was meant to be a brush off, Ianto was sure, but its disguise was so thin that he could see right through it. He felt something like a shiver, a jolt, go through him and he settled his drink on the counter. He picked it up again, looked at it, and put it back down. The sky outside was the dark electric blue of twilight and everything against it was black. He stared out the window as he listened to the swishing and tapping of Jack’s cooking. Jack had started to hum softly again, too, brokenly, skipping notes here and there.   
Taking a deep breath, Ianto turned and placed his hand on Jack’s hip. It wasn’t normal behavior, but then none of this was. Jack shot him a look over his shoulder and then smiled.

“How long?” Ianto asked, nodding to the pan.

“Another thirty minutes, give or take.”

*****

Despite their best intentions of eating a proper meal, they still ended up in front of the telly, flicking through the channels. It wasn’t often that they had a night to themselves, though, and damned if they weren’t going to eke as much normalcy out of it as possible.

There were benefits, too, to eating on the sofa. Their bodies were pressed close together and, even though Ianto pretended it annoyed him outwardly, Jack would touch him gently on his thigh, his shoulder, anywhere he could reach, in between bites. Ianto wasn’t really sure _why_ he pretended it annoyed him, when clearly it didn’t deter Jack at all. Jack probably knew how much he enjoyed it, anyway, and the fact that he let Ianto get away with his protestations warmed him.

“How is it?” Jack asked after a while, once they’d settled on some sort of police drama.

Ianto lifted his glass from the coffee table and took a sip. “Good,” he said, smiling. “Really good.”

“We should eat at home more often,” Jack said softly, distantly. “I wish –” He shook his head.

“I know.” Ianto looked at him, bathed in blue-green light from the screen, and took another bite of his food.

Jack just nodded and for a while they turned their attention back to the screen in front of them. A police car screamed around a corner, its lights flashing, and the police officer - the lead on the show, Ianto guessed - got out and drew his gun. He started to run down the dark alleyway in front of him. He was in pursuit. 

Ianto stared at the screen, but all he could really hear was Jack's breathing next to him. The clink of his glass as he set it down on the table. The shuffle of fabric against fabric when he crossed one ankle over the other. 

Ianto had cut him off because he didn't want to have this conversation again. The one where Jack told him that they'd make more time, that they'd take more days off, more nights, more weekends, more holidays. That they'd rent a cabin in Snowdonia. Sometimes he wondered if they'd know what to do with all that extra time if they had it. It made his stomach churn, thinking about it. He downed the last of his wine and leaned back against the sofa. Jack's shoulder pressed against his, a line of warmth, of _presence_ that continued on down Ianto's side, all the way to his calves, his ankles, his toes. He didn't need more time with Jack. He just needed the time they had to matter. 

It hadn't always, with Lisa. She'd planned everything, always looking to the future. He'd been guilty of it, too, of course, of waiting for that perfect holiday, for that weekend where one or both of them wouldn't be called in to work overtime. Even after Canary Wharf, he wished he'd just spent more time _talking_ to her, getting to know her. Less time waiting for a miracle that never came.

He watched Jack's eyes darting across the screen, following the images there, so many tiny movements to track, just in that one millisecond of observation. 

It should have been different with Jack. With no illusions that this would last forever, through old age, it really should have been different. Maybe it was. 

He heard Jack scrape his metal fork across the porcelain dish and turned, cringing slightly at the sound. The dish was placed on the coffee table, but Ianto didn’t have the energy to open his mouth and complain. Besides, if Jack placed it on the floor, he’d probably step on it later and break it into large sharp shards. It was just a coffee table, after all.

And damn it if everything wasn’t just one bloody metaphor after the next.

Jack placed a hand on his knee and Ianto put his own plate down next to Jack’s in defiance of himself, perhaps, or of his upbringing, or of something else he couldn’t name. Fear, maybe. Of shattered dishes and scratched coffee table surfaces and what they stood for.

He considered his need for sleep, but it was only just gone eight and he wanted this time with Jack, quiet and domestic and ridiculously exciting. He leaned back against him and Jack’s arm went around his shoulder and he felt warm, full, relaxed.

Someone was being interrogated on the dark screen, snarling and full of denial. Ianto had no idea who she was, couldn’t even remember what the crime had been from only thirty minutes before. Probably murder of some sort; it was always murder.

Jack’s hand traveled up his thigh and he pressed a kiss behind Ianto’s ear, and Ianto’s eyes slid shut.

“No, please! You don’t understand!” the woman shouted. “I had to, he gave me no –”

Jack must’ve turned off the telly, because now the only sound in the room that Ianto could hear was their breathing and the soft, wet noises of Jack’s mouth as it toyed with his ear.

Turning his head, Ianto caught Jack’s lips and kissed him until they were both panting between bouts of pressure, never fully pulling away like eager teenagers.

Jack pulled him back along the sofa, his hands roving wherever they could find purchase, lingering for a moment to tease and then moving on again, and Ianto was grateful that he hadn’t put his plate down on the cushion.

He exhaled slowly, a long breath that seemed to have been drawn from deep within his body. Its volume was of an unknown quantity that just kept coming, taking with it the tension of the day, and of their conversations, too, the ones he'd had with Jack and the ones he'd had with himself.

The ones that fell somewhere in between were possibly still there, hanging in the air somewhere, or between the sofa cushions, poised to crop up at any moment. 

Above him (well, mostly above him, and also somewhat pressed against his side, wedged in between Ianto's hips and the back of the sofa) Jack was nuzzling at his neck. Ianto turned slightly to provide a better angle and hummed at the shiver that it brought down his spine when he felt Jack's teeth graze his skin playfully. 

Ianto traced underneath Jack’s braces. Through familiar layers of cotton, he felt the muscles tense for a moment, and then go slack again, as Jack leaned into the touch, rolling his tongue back and forth along the skin behind Ianto's ear. Over the thump of his heart in his chest, and the rush of blood in his ears, Ianto heard the creak of the springs under them as the sofa protested the movement and the weight of Jack's hips rutting against his thigh, Jack's knee moving up between his legs. 

Without the light of the telly, it was getting dark, the blue-black of twilight fading to a moonless night sky. Ianto cracked his eyes open and could see the light from a streetlamp creeping under the blinds - a tiny sliver that wouldn't help anyone navigate anywhere, but that lay there on the floor next to the sofa all the same.

There wasn't much space left between them at all now, but Jack used it to his advantage, sliding his hand up and under the edge of Ianto's shirt, teasing him, his fingers dancing around Ianto's stomach, feather-light, just enough to raise the hairs on the surface of the skin. Just enough to make Ianto's abdominals clench and release, too, over and over in anticipation, until finally he pushed up on his elbows to claim Jack's lips with a groan, forcing Jack's hand to splay out instinctively and then slide a little further, the thrust of Ianto's hips guiding his movement.

He groaned when Jack came so close to providing the friction he needed and then slipped away with a smirk and a soft, hushing sound.

“Not here,” Jack said, even as he bent his head to kiss him again, his fingertips still mapping out the planes of Ianto’s stomach. “You’ve got a perfectly good bed in there, and your neck won’t get sore.”

This, from the man who had had him bent over a desk just last week. Because _that_ hadn’t wreaked havoc on his neck (or his hips, or his calves, or various other parts of his body). Still, it was a solid idea and would give them a lot more room than this.

He let Jack help him up and they both bumped into the coffee table.

“I can’t see,” Jack hissed by way of apology and Ianto chuckled.

“I’m sure you know your way to my bedroom. Probably got it memorized.”

He blushed as Jack laughed, grateful that it was too dark for Jack to see, and was tugged forward. There was a thump as Jack fumbled around for the door knob. He must’ve found it, because suddenly, Ianto found himself pushing Jack into the room, their lips interlocked and their hands fumbling with clothing. He shoved Jack so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was pulled to stand in between Jack’s legs.

It was nearly pitch black, but his eyes were adjusting. He could just make out the general shapes of Jack; the curve of his shoulder, the line of his arm, the slope of his neck as he turned. Jack tugged on his belt buckle, needy and impatient.

He grabbed Jack’s hands and brought them to his face. He wasn’t sure why he did it, or why he then pressed his lips to each palm in turn, but he did. It could be analyzed later, along with the desperate sound that escaped Jack’s throat.

“God,” Jack breathed. “You…I –”

Ianto shut him up properly, afraid of what he might say. 

The next few moments were a flutter of movement and Ianto thought briefly about folding his trousers on the floor next to the bed. But Jack's fingers were already grasping at his hips impatiently and, in the end, he kicked the wool fabric aside hastily, not caring how wrinkled they'd end up tomorrow. As he started to pull his shirt over his head, Jack tugged him close.

Jack chuckled against his stomach - a familiar sound that brought a spontaneous smile to Ianto's face, one that felt bright and free, even in the darkness. Then Jack pressed his nose against the waistband of Ianto's briefs, and Ianto gasped in surprise, even though he should have seen it coming a mile off. His breath was so warm and Ianto could practically feel Jack's mouth against his skin, as if the thin cotton had vanished already.

"What I was going to say," Jack murmured, placing a quick kiss to the inside of Ianto's thigh, and then his stomach, "when I was so rudely interrupted, is that you..." Jack paused to flick his tongue across the soft pucker of Ianto's belly button, "...are amazing."

Ianto's hands had frozen over his head several moments ago, and when he was able to move again, he moved quickly.

"Flattery will only get you so far," Ianto murmured and grasped Jack's shoulders tightly. He pushed Jack onto his back and straddled his waist, as Jack struggled to kick his trousers off under the weight. 

In the darkness, Jack beamed up at him, a flash of white that made Ianto's stomach clench suddenly. 

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's gotten me far enough," Jack observed, and Ianto really couldn't argue as Jack shifted underneath him and rolled them over onto the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack was asleep (or at least close enough to it), his breathing steady and deep. His face was nudged against Ianto’s neck and the measured, soft puffs of air against his skin were driving Ianto absolutely mad.

Other than that, though, he was comfortable, and it really wasn’t worth moving. Jack had opened the window before returning to bed and now a cold breeze was blowing in, freshening the air and trailing against the exposed parts of their chests and calves. It smelled crisp with rain. They lay tangled together like an Escher print and the sheets were twined around their legs. Ianto stared at the ceiling because if he didn’t, he’d end up staring at Jack and that just wouldn’t do.

He felt the hand on his hip tighten and Jack nuzzled closer. “Sleep,” Jack murmured softly. “Thinking too hard.”

Ianto froze and then smiled up into the darkness, letting Jack slip back into unconsciousness like he usually did. Really, he _wasn’t_ thinking, except about how he didn’t want to think about anything at all. Not about cooking dinners, or weekend holidays, or the way Jack kept looking at him like he was surprised and thrilled, or how their hands would brush up against each other and then Jack would smile… _fuck_.

Well, he could focus on the case, at least. Gwen hadn’t called him back, which meant things were probably fine on that front. And Owen would analyze the results tomorrow, so they’d probably have something more to go on. Maybe they could put this to bed soon, and then Jack would stop being accommodating and sweet and so bloody intent on taking him away from all of this.

He inhaled a ragged breath and finally looked at Jack, who was wide awake and smiling at him like he knew something. 

"You're thinking about the case," Jack said quietly. Under the covers, he nudged Ianto's ankle with his toe. It was freezing and Ianto frowned at him. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Actually, no. I wasn't."

Jack gasped in mock-surprise and then nodded knowingly. He shifted onto his side and stared at Ianto through dark, glassy eyes. "Me then, is it?"

Ianto snorted, but couldn't find the energy to argue.

He tried to ignore the fact that Jack was leaning up against his shoulder now, that his lips were pursed just on the edge of his neck. Those little puffs of breath were longer, more measured, spreading gooseflesh over his skin in wide patches. He sighed and turned onto his side. Jack's body followed him, curve for curve, until his chest was pressed close against Ianto's back, his arm wrapped around his stomach possessively. 

"I can't say I blame you," Jack whispered, and Ianto smiled into his pillow, marveling a little at the warmth Jack provided, at the way they fit together like this. 

Sometimes, he had the irrational urge to stay up all night just to prolong this moment, but he always ended up falling asleep anyway. In the morning, when the light streamed in through the blinds, and the alarm went off, sometimes he was disappointed that he hadn't drawn it out a bit longer. 

Ianto closed his eyes and drew Jack's hand to his lips. He felt Jack's breath catch and then release against his neck in a long contented sigh. After that, Jack's breathing steadied again, smoothing out in the darkness into a measured rhythm. 

Jack’s hand clenched against the juncture of Ianto’s flesh and the mattress, and then flattened, locking him into place. It was an unconscious move, Ianto knew, something Jack’s muscles did of their own volition as he eased into sleep. But thinking back, it hadn’t always been that way. He couldn’t remember when it started, or why.

Around now, he’d drift off, the gentle rhythm of Jack’s sleep noises lulling him into a relaxation he didn’t allow himself to feel during the day. Here, in this bed, they just _were_. A car passed outside, the headlights extending in long lines across the wall. As it got closer, he could hear the tires swish against the still-wet pavement and the muffled thump of bass.

The night before, Ianto had dreamt that he had to bring Gwen a flamingo so that she could use the feathers for her sunglasses. She was very grateful, and had adorned an extra pair for him to give to Jack. Why he’d been so excited to bestow this peculiar gift, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t put much stock in dreams.

Jack nuzzled against him again and huffed a breath of sleepy disdain. Sometimes Ianto liked to imagine that these were silent, semi-conscious conversations, Jack reacting in his sleep to Ianto’s meandering thoughts.

As he drifted off, he wondered what Jack might dream of; it seemed impossible to imagine that his dreams were anything less than extraordinary, but then it had also seemed impossible for Jack to cook him dinner and then kiss him, tasting of earth and salt and wine. Maybe the normalcy was the most extraordinary thing about Jack, and maybe cooking dinner really _should_ be the most exciting part of Ianto’s week.

Ianto fell asleep smiling.

*****

The next morning, he woke up ten minutes before his alarm. He lay there blinking for a few seconds until he realized that the space in the bed next to him was empty. He could hear the muffled tones of Jack's voice through the closed door of his bedroom. He sounded excited.

Ianto padded out to the living room, and watched as Jack grinned at him. He gestured to the phone with his left hand, as if maybe Ianto hadn't realized it was there.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm still here Tosh." He paused and his grin turned a little sheepish. "Yes, I heard you. We'll be there as soon as we can - I'll brief Ianto on the way." 

Ianto glanced at Jack and raised his eyebrows, and then started gathering the remnants of last night's dinner from the coffee table. He picked up a wine glass and breathed a small sigh of relief when the table underneath it came up free of any telltale ring. 

"No, no need to call him, I've got it covered," Jack was saying. He chuckled. "I'll leave that to your imagination. Just don't share with Owen, okay? You know how he gets." 

"So, good news?" Ianto asked Jack once he'd hung up his mobile. 

It was cloudy outside - Ianto couldn't quite tell if it was getting ready to rain or if it had just finished. He deposited the dishes in the sink carefully.

"Sounds like it could be," Jack told him. His eyes were practically gleaming with excitement. 

Ianto gave him a moment and then sighed when Jack didn't immediately continue. 

"You know you don't actually have to wait until we're in the car to brief me," he said, staring at Jack impatiently. "What did she say?" 

Jack grinned. "She's still analyzing the data, but she thinks she's found a pattern. Between our samples and some of the readings we have on file." 

Ianto's heart raced a little with anticipation. It could be nothing, but if Tosh had thought enough of the discovery to call Jack about it, well….There was a good chance it _wasn't_ nothing. "What kind of pattern?" 

"She's not sure yet. But if she's right about the levels she found with the samples, she thinks she might be able to use it to predict another occurrence." 

Jack pressed his hand to Ianto’s back and smiled at him. The news was all a bit much, and Ianto was eager to get in and start working. Jack bent down and began to fumble for pans beneath the sink, the clanging of metal-on-metal stabbing into Ianto’s sleep-fuzzy brain.

“What’re you doing?” he asked rubbing his temples.

“Making breakfast.” When Jack took his head out from the cabinet, Ianto was frowning. “You have eggs,” Jack said by way of explanation. “Go on, shower, it’ll be ready when you’re done.”

“But we have to –”

Jack scowled. “It can wait.” His face softened into a smile again and his arms wound around Ianto’s waist. He pressed a kiss behind Ianto’s ear. “I know this is important to you. I get it, I do. But _this_? This is important, too.”

Ianto took a deep breath and felt his arms wrap around Jack of their own volition. It was strange to be so close like this in the soft light of morning, in the middle of the kitchen. Strange, but nice. Jack was warm against him, and malleable, his skin pliant from sleep. Ianto found he didn’t really want to move.

“Okay,” he said quietly, and found Jack’s lips against his own. “Okay, yeah.”

He wondered if this was as close as they would ever come to admission and definition, and if what he felt at that thought was relief or despair. Jack kissed him again and pulled away, his eyes bright and relaxed.

Ianto shook himself of his thoughts and smiled. “Just don’t touch the coffee machine.”

Jack’s hands raised in surrender, ‘as if I would’ written across his face in bold, and Ianto laughed. He reached a hand out to Jack’s face and stopped midway, uncertain of his own intent. He paused for a moment, frozen with his arm outstretched, and then he pulled it back. Instead, he turned and walked to the shower.

He'd meant to shower quickly, and by normal standards he'd probably still managed it, but by the time he stepped out and wrapped a towel around himself it seemed to Ianto as if he'd been in there all morning. He wasn't exactly sure why, but the more he thought about what Tosh's discovery could mean for the case, and the night travelers, the more he realized he was as apprehensive as he was excited at the prospect of meeting them again. 

He sighed as he pulled the thin cotton shirt over his head (he'd change properly after breakfast). _Speculation_ , Ianto told himself. All of this was speculation. They had no idea what Tosh had even found yet. 

Ianto forced himself to focus on breakfast, which really wasn't all that difficult considering Jack was cooking it. 

He made his way to the coffee machine as Jack was putting the finishing touches on a quite delicious looking omelet and grinning at him. 

"What?" Ianto asked, turning his back on Jack to deal with the coffee. "You know it drives me nuts when you look at me like that." 

"Like what?" 

"Like you know something I don't." He paused for a few seconds as the whir of the grinder threatened to drown out his voice. "I can never tell if you're thinking about snogging me or if you're about to announce that Torchwood Three is moving house to London." Ianto considered this for a moment. "Or worse, Scotland." 

"What's wrong with Scotland?"

Ianto stared at Jack. "Have you seen the numbers on their economy lately? And besides, there's no rift in Scotland." He pressed a few buttons on the coffee maker, stared at it until it started gurgling and then turned to Jack, satisfied that their coffee was indeed on its way. 

Jack frowned at him for a moment. "Well, to be honest, I'd rather snog you anyway." 

Ianto raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad you find it more preferable than relocation to Scotland.”

“Well,” Jack said as he shrugged, smiling, the spatula tight in his grip, “I prefer it to most things.”

Jack rested the spatula on the counter and Ianto winced, a comment about spoon rests and clean surfaces flittering over his tongue. He let it die unspoken; it wasn’t worth the temporary argument when it could just be wiped up in half the time. He smiled.

“Almost ready?” he asked. Jack nodded without checking and stretched his back. The coffee was still brewing, its slow cycle timed perfectly, and Ianto left the machine to its task.

He stood next to Jack and peered into the pan. It looked good, the egg cooking firmly, and he wondered at his own disbelief that someone like Jack could cook. Of course he could. Immortality and heroism didn’t take away a need for food, and he was fairly sure that Jack had to have done at least one bout of domesticity in the past however many years, too.

And hell, if Jack could be a circus performer, why couldn’t he cook eggs?

“It was nice,” Ianto said quietly, apropos of nothing, as he watched the egg mixture bubble around the edges, “going to the theatre. For a little while, we were equals, seeing something new for the first time. He’d buy me a sweet, or maybe popcorn, and for a couple of hours we’d get along perfectly.”

Jack placed his arm around Ianto’s waist and pulled him closer. “Your father?”

“Yeah. He…we just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but we could agree on films. He always loved the old black-and-whites, the uplifting war-era things, and the early cartoons. I guess I inherited my taste from him.”

Ianto felt Jack’s lips against his scalp, felt as they stretched into a smile. “We’ll go sometime.”

And there it was again, the promise of a future beyond tomorrow, but this time Ianto’s stomach didn’t clench unpleasantly. “I’d like that,” he smiled, and nodded to the cooking food. “Now finish up. We’ve got to get in soon.”

*****

Breakfast ended up being nice, if not a little rushed thanks to Ianto’s shower and Jack’s complete inability to hurry through a cup of coffee (or two) , but eventually, they were on their way.

In the car, they talked about the weather, and the rain, and what it would mean for their samples, if it turned out that Tosh and Owen _needed_ more samples, and Ianto tried to push away the anxiety that seemed to be building the closer they got to the Hub. 

“What is it?” Jack asked after few moments of silence had passed. Ianto glanced over at him in confusion. 

“Sorry, what?”

“You,” Jack clarified. “Something’s up.”

“Nothing’s up, Jack. I’m just a little anxious, that’s all.”

Jack just nodded as if he understood perfectly and rested his hand on Ianto’s thigh. Ianto glanced in the rearview mirror as he started to pull into the Millennium Centre car park.

“I’m not exactly excited by the prospect of meeting them again, either,” Jack said, sounding as apprehensive as Ianto felt. “Who’s to say we’d do any better at preventing casualties this time around, right?” Jack let out a nervous laugh.

“Well, we know more now than we ever did before. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

“You’re right.” Jack nodded and patted Ianto’s knee reassuringly. “I’ve got to learn to be more optimistic.”

He grinned at Ianto, and it was almost convincing, as the Audi eased into its familiar spot, and Ianto shifted into park.

*****

“We’re back!” Jack called out, as soon as the cog door started to open.

Ianto was trailing behind him, after he'd checked out the state of the tourist office briefly, eyeing the brochures, making sure there were no suspicious packages waiting outside the door for him.

He took a deep breath, and jogged to keep pace as Jack practically burst into the main level of the Hub.

“So,” Jack prodded, beaming. “What have you got for us?” 

“Coffee first,” Owen insisted as he stepped in front of them, folding his arms across his chest.

Jack frowned as Ianto took the greatcoat from his shoulders. “You’re dead,” he stated bluntly. “You don’t drink coffee. And aren’t you supposed to be making it now?”

Gwen jogged down the stairs to meet them, smiling. She was clutching a thick file of papers, the corners escaping their confines every which way, making it look like the spined back of a stegosaurus. Her eyes widened and she pouted at Ianto, pleadingly.

“Please don’t make me drink Owen’s coffee. I know Rhys broke that vial, but the punishment hardly fits the crime,” she begged. Owen scowled at her.

Despite the anxiety flooding his system, making his heart pound and his muscles twitch, he winked at her in acquiescence. “Fine. Tosh probably deserves a cup, as well.”

As he walked over to the coffee machine, he saw Jack frown and then felt his presence at his back, trailing him like a puppy. Ianto ignored him, instead favoring the small cabinet with his attention as he retrieved four mugs. He checked the container of beans; they’d need more soon, and cream, too. He’d have to remember to add it to his list.

Jack pressed against his back. “Owen’s not going to get any better if you don’t let him try.”

“He doesn’t want to learn. Why should we force him?”

“Well, there isn’t much he can do with –”

Ianto turned and faced him, his back pressed against the counter. He was trapped between it and Jack. “And that’s why I made the coffee? Because there wasn’t much I could do?”

“No,” Jack said quickly, startled. He had this curious, bemused expression on his face that somehow managed to relax Ianto’s tense muscles. “No, you make it because you’re good at it, because you like it! At least, I thought you did.”

Ianto smiled. “And therefore I shall continue to do so.” He gently pressed his lips to Jack’s. “Now go get everyone together in the conference room. I’ll be up in a couple of minutes.”

Jack favored him with something halfway between a frown and a smile, as though his mouth were unsure how it felt about the whole thing, and nodded.

After Jack had left, Ianto carefully arranged the mugs on the tray in front of him. Gwen’s cup sloshed over the rim and he frowned. He reached for a towel, dabbing between the cups, and then underneath Gwen’s mug (and Tosh’s, while he was at it) before glancing around to confirm that everyone had relocated to the conference room.

He was stalling and he knew it. He tried to call back some of the calm that he’d shared with Jack over breakfast. No matter what Tosh had found out – even if it turned out that the night travelers would be on their doorstep again tonight – it wouldn’t change how good things had been with Jack lately. They would simply handle this like they handled everything else - together. It was a little unnerving, actually, the thought that maybe Jack’s past simply didn’t hold the power it once did.

*****

Everyone was already sitting around the large table when he arrived – Gwen smiled gratefully and jumped up to grab her coffee before he’d even made it around to her side of the table.

He saved his and Jack’s for last. Jack beamed at him as he took the seat to his right.

“Brilliant, as always,” Jack murmured, taking a sip.

“I do my best,” Ianto said quietly.

After a moment, they all turned their attention to Tosh, who appeared lost in the papers scattered in front of her before she blinked to attention.

“Yes, right. Well….Take a look at this.” She tapped a few commands on her PDA and several complicated graphs appeared on the screens at the front of the room.

“What are we looking at?” Jack asked.

“The one on the right – those are nitrogen levels. A cross section of your samples, and the historical data Ianto found in the archives, as well as some numbers I was able to dig up on my own from Welsh Water. As you can see, these are pretty normal. No huge spikes, even on the dates associated with the appearance of the night travelers.”

She tapped her PDA and the display changed. This time, even to his untrained eye, Ianto could see that something significant was going on.

“And what’s that then?” he asked, staring at several giant spikes in the graph.

Tosh beamed. “Silicon. Those are the silicon levels in the water.” A red laser pointer danced over the edge of the graph’s sharp ridges. “This here is from the night we found the first victims of the night travelers. You can see the baseline, and then this huge spike here.” She paused, her eyes gleaming excitedly. “Jack, I don’t think the night travelers are nitrogen-based. They’re _silicon_ based.” 

Ianto froze and stared at the graphs on the wall. The lines began to blur, he was looking so closely. It was a marked change, the peaks so unmistakable and concrete right there among the low skimming green and red and yellow lines.

Owen was talking quickly and Tosh was giving rapid-fire answers, but Ianto wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were too busy tracing the rise and fall of the pertinent points. He could hear Gwen writing something down next to him, the scratch of pen on paper loud enough to indicate the furiousness of her scribbling.

Jack’s hand settled on his knee and Ianto relaxed a bit, blinking. He looked over and Jack offered a small smile. He whistled and everyone froze to turn to him.

“So. What does this mean?” he asked and Ianto released a grateful breath. “Is there any sort of pattern we can go by?”

Tosh nodded and pressed a few buttons. The graph on the wall zoomed out and showed a whole array of figures, spikes and spires traveling across the space with relative uniformity. “They seem to manifest once every twenty eight years, give or take. I can’t be completely sure; the data isn’t entirely accurate. But from what I have to go on, it’s the best I can do.” She looked apologetic.

“Twenty eight years?” Jack repeated and Tosh nodded again. “I’ll be sure to put a reminder in my calendar.”

Ianto squeezed Jack’s hand tight. He hadn’t meant to, but twenty eight years? Suddenly, this was less about Jack’s past than it was about his future. A future he was sure he wouldn’t be around to witness. Jack squeezed back.

“I thought you’d only seen them the once, Jack,” Gwen piped up, taping her pen against her chin.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, in 1924. After that would’ve been…’52? That was the coronation." He paused, his eyes glazing over as if in deep thought. “And then in 1980 I was pulled in by One to help investigate a string of murders that they thought might be alien in origin.” He shrugged. “I just missed the other appearances, I guess.”

“Wait a minute,” Owen said, standing up. “Wasn’t this a random occurrence? A piece of film someone got hold of accidentally? You mean to tell me they _planned_ this?”

“No, it’s more complicated than that. They didn’t plan it.” Tosh pointed to the screen in front of them, which morphed back into the second set of graphs. “I don’t think they _could_ plan it if they wanted to. See, that last spike there,” she pointed to the most recent spike on the chart, “that also corresponds with some very unique rift fluctuations. Here.” She brought up a graph mapping the activity. It was clear that there had been a huge jump on the charts at certain points.

“So you’re saying that the level of rift energy combined with, what, nitrogen and silicon levels in the water allowed this to happen?” Jack asked, sitting up straight. He smiled, obviously impressed. “Good work, Tosh.”

The rest of the table echoed their agreement, still staring at the screen in front of them, trying to make sense of what they were looking at. Or at least, that was what Ianto was doing. It seemed so strange, to suddenly have the mystery illustrated in front of him with charts and graphs and spreadsheets like this.

“And it’s just a theory – we don’t have rift data going back that far, obviously, but…” Toshiko tapped the screen of her PDA, and brought up a black and white microscope image, which resembled what could have been some sort of honeycomb. “I think we’re looking at this. I’ve been calling it Silicon-31, but of course, that’s not official.” She smiled a little sheepishly. “It’s an isotope. A new one, so far as I can tell, but based on the water samples and the levels I’ve been able to measure, I think it’s created when the night travelers come through. Compared to the current stable isotopes we already have for silicon, this one is extremely unstable.”

“As in occurring every twenty eight years?”

“So far as I can tell,” Tosh repeated carefully. “And maybe the oxygen stolen from their victims prolongs the isotope’s half-life, allowing them to remain here longer, or they think it does? I haven’t found any data to support that, but it could explain their need to steal breath.”

“So…” Ianto started. “Twenty eight years from now…”

“There will be a rift spike, silicon levels will rise in the water—“ Jack continued.

“And you, Jack, will deal with the night travelers on your own, since we’ll all be long gone by then,” Owen stated, throwing up his hands. “Great, case closed.”


	7. Chapter 7

There was silence in the room, marred only by the whir of technology. Jack squeezed Ianto’s hand again, tight, but said nothing. Ianto stood up.

“Right. Well. I’ll go brew a fresh batch of coffee then, shall I?”

He ran his hand through his hair quickly and began to collect their mugs from the table. Gwen rose when he came to her and put a hand on his shoulder, her mouth open to speak. He covered her hand with his own and cut her off with a smile.

“I’m fine,” he murmured; it wouldn’t have been heard if it wasn’t for the blanketing quiet. He felt Jack’s eyes on him. “Just need some more caffeine. We’ve all been working hard on this.” He glanced around. “Thank you.”

They let him leave without a fuss and he was grateful. It wasn’t news, of course, that he would die long before Jack did, but to have so stark a reminder staring him in the face wasn’t something he needed right now. Not when things were nicely muddled enough between them as it was. He rinsed the mugs and dried them out with a clean cloth before proceeding to wipe down the coffee machine.

“I think it’s clean,” Jack whispered in his ear, and a sudden, solid warmth appeared at Ianto's back. “You can stop now. I’m getting jealous.”

Ianto took a deep breath and threw the cloth onto the counter. “Can I help you with anything, sir?”

He immediately regretted his words when Jack stepped away, hands in the air. He looked affronted, _hurt_ , and Ianto wanted to reach out to smooth the lines in his forehead, but it was probably too late for that. Too late, always too late. And it wasn’t dying that upset him, not really. But the fact that Jack would, in the future, have to face a reminder of his past, which was currently the present, was as heartbreaking as it was confusing. 

Sighing, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jack. He stiffened at first and then relaxed, which was a good sign, Ianto thought.

“Sorry,” he murmured into Jack’s shirt.

“You’re impossible to get a handle on, you know that?”

Ianto snorted a laugh that was also a sob.

“Are you sure about that?” Ianto mumbled. The stiff cotton of Jack’s collar smelled crisp and clean. Like laundry, and dryer sheets, and _order_ , and all the things Ianto loved about his job, about taking care of Jack. He breathed deeply, allowed his lungs to expand and his arms to tighten against Jack’s back.

“Positive,” Jack whispered, loosening his grip a little. “Come on.”

“Coffee?”

Jack smiled. “Well, that’s what we came down here for, right?”

Ianto laughed a little and then nodded. Jack met his eyes for a moment. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Jack said and Ianto realized he had no idea if he was referring to the case, or the team in general, or maybe everything, all at once. He agreed, though. Because when Jack told him something would be okay, honestly, it usually was.

“I’ll be back up with some fresh coffee in a few minutes,” he told Jack, flipping the switch on the coffee machine.

*****

Back in the conference room, Tosh and Owen were in what seemed to be a rather animated discussion on some aspect or another of Tosh’s findings, but were happy to be interrupted with warm drinks.

Ianto was about to apologize to Tosh for leaving so abruptly when Jack cleared his throat.

“Okay, now that we’re all freshly caffeinated, I know I for one would love to hear more about what you found out. “

Jack beamed at the group and Ianto slipped into the chair next to him, a bit relieved. Tosh met his eyes for a second and he offered her an encouraging smile.

“Right, so…” Tosh began, “as I was just telling Owen – it’s a bit like carbon dating. I was able to tell when the night travelers had been here before by reading the signs in the water and the readings from the rift – sort of like how scientists estimate the age of wood or other carbon-bearing materials with radio metric dating and radioisotopes.” She paused for a moment and her eyes lit up. “It’s fascinating.”

Ianto cleared his throat. “And the time frame, the twenty eight years….You’re sure?”

“I’m as sure as I can be, yes,” Tosh said, nodding. She pulled up a graph on the display. “We should still keep an eye on the areas with the highest silicon concentrations – I’ve initiated a program that will alert us once it reaches above a certain level in a number of local water sources. But the rift spikes I showed you before were very unique. I believe that the twenty eight year time frame is fairly accurate.”

“Okay,” Gwen said, leaning back in her seat, her mug of coffee between her hands. “What do we do, then? We need a way to get rid of them for good, right?”

Jack nodded and smiled at her. “Right. But all we have right now is speculation. They’re silicon-based, sure, but it also seems that they’re tied to the rift and who knows what else. We don’t have anything else to go off of except an idea of when they’ll show up again.”

Gwen frowned and looked between Ianto and Jack. Ianto took a sip of his own coffee and watched her. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tosh typing furiously on her keyboard, her mouth turned down in frustration. He tried to think of something other than failure; maybe, somehow, he’d still be alive in twenty eight years. He’d only be, what, just over fifty? Well, no matter. They could prepare now. They’d be ready.

Gwen’s palm hit the table. “So, what? We just give up?”

“Yeah, like I said. Case closed.” Owen tossed his pen up in the air and caught it. “I mean, maybe I’ll still be around, undead and all. I’ll punch one of them in the face if it makes you all feel better.”

Ianto closed his eyes and sighed. He felt Jack move to stand behind him, a hand resting on his shoulder. Maybe tonight they’d go back home, grab some food on the way, and forget about all of this. And maybe they _could_ go somewhere, just for the weekend. 

“We don’t give up; we prepare as best we can,” Jack was saying. “We know more now than we ever have before. We know when they should show up next and we know part of their composition. We know they’re affected by the rift. We know what they’re after, and we can guess why. But we have no way to destroy them right now. So we wait.”

 _No_ , Ianto wanted to say. _You wait. We move on._ He kept his mouth shut. After work, he’d look into reservations for those cabins Jack had talked about, in Snowdonia, by the estuary. It’d be nice to get away.

*****

Later that evening, after Gwen had gone home to Rhys, and Owen and Tosh had gone their separate ways, Ianto found himself alone in the tourist office. Outside, he could hear muffled voices on the boardwalk; teenagers, or maybe college kids, out enjoying themselves in the heart of the city. It was Friday night, Ianto realized. He wondered how on earth the entire week had passed without him noticing they were almost at the weekend. 

He wondered if this was what it was like for Jack. Only for Jack, it would be decades, centuries, that would pass in the blink of an eye. He hated that he had no idea how to understand what that must be like. It felt like grasping at air sometimes. This case, Jack, all of it. Like trying to clutch something invisible between his fingers, over and over again, even though he knew he’d come up empty every single time. 

Idly, Ianto ran his hands over the stacks of brochures on the rack next to the door, straightening their edges. The first two fliers advertising group rates on tours at Cardiff Castle were creased at the corners and Ianto slid them round to the back. 

After giving the rack one last once-over, he picked up Jack’s Snowdonia pamphlet and turned it over in his hand. Cabins offered year round. And the rates weren’t bad at all, especially on the off-season. He pulled out his PDA. 

He was just getting the calendar open when the door leading back to the Hub swung out. Ianto had known it wouldn’t take Jack long to find him after the others had left. He smiled as Jack approached the desk. 

“Aren’t we closed?” Jack asked, eyeing the door curiously. 

“Yep,” Ianto told him, sliding the brochure under a pile of mail and out of sight. “Just switched over the sign.”

“You’re finished here?” Jack asked. 

“Just about. You?”

“I’ve got a few things I should finish up, but….”

“But why would you do that when you can ask me to do it in the morning?” Ianto supplied.

“Ianto Jones, you’ve read my mind.” Jack grinned, but something about his voice sounded tentative, cautious.

Jack stepped closer, with a casual stride that seemed to cover some misplaced nervousness, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. It was interesting to watch, if a bit disconcerting. Jack would’ve made a good tightrope walker; it would’ve been less painful than shooting himself in the head, probably.

Outside, it was getting dark. The clouds that’d hung low the past few days had dissipated, leaving only clear indigo sky, tinged with black at the edges, and pale gold on the horizon. Ianto’s hand toyed with the edge of the brochure that poked out beneath the envelopes, tracing the corner with the tip of his index finger.

When he was close, Jack settled his hands on the counter. “Of course,” he said thoughtfully, “I could do it in the morning, too. Either way.” He shrugged and when he lowered his hands, they came to rest just above Ianto’s hips.

Ianto hummed and closed his eyes. They still stood a good distance away with only one established point of contact. Jack shuffled closer, a quick, quiet movement and Ianto opened his eyes. He smiled and for a moment, Jack’s eyes widened like a lost child’s, like he was terrified. The look faded and was replaced with something gentler.

The change in mood was strange. Down in the conference room, Jack had been…well, he’d been Jack. Strong and in charge and brilliant. But now, he was so subdued, a doused flame. Ianto wished he was able to read Jack’s mind; it would probably make life a lot easier. As it was, it looked as though Jack half-expected Ianto to disappear completely, right there, just fade into nothing like a dream. Oh. Oh. 

Slowly, Ianto brought his face closer until he was practically nuzzling Jack’s cheek. “It…I mean, I’m sorry if –”

“No,” Jack shook his head slightly. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.” He buried his face in Ianto’s neck and breathed deeply, his hands wrapping tightly around Ianto’s waist. The warmth of his breath felt nice, almost solid.

Ianto nodded. “Right.”

“Finish up here and join me upstairs for a drink?”

“Of course,” Ianto said and pulled away to look at Jack directly. “Of course I will.”

It was the simplest thing in the world, really, to just follow. He wondered when Jack started asking, rather than demanding. Maybe that’s what made it seem so easy. 

Ianto wondered, as he slid the deadbolt into place with a firm click, if in Jack’s long life, there had been friends, lovers, colleagues who had been willing to make the promises he knew he would never make – guarantees not to fade away, not to disappear. It would be easy enough for someone to say the words, after all. Harder to make them mean something, though, and that was the problem. 

Ianto sighed and crossed over to the desk. He dropped the junk mail into the recycling bin at his feet, made sure that the spare set of keys to the SUV were deposited safely away, and then locked the desk with a flick of his wrist. 

He slid the Snowdonia brochure into his left breast pocket. 

Then he turned off the lights and the room plunged into darkness.

*****

Jack had a drink ready for him when he reached his office and Ianto accepted it graciously. In the dim light, Jack’s face seemed framed in shadows along with the rest of the room, a dark blur around the edges that made him just a touch uneasy. 

Ianto brought the glass to his lips and glanced at Jack, hoping that he didn’t look as helpless as he felt. 

He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, or how they’d managed to find safe places for their drinks so quickly, but before Ianto knew it his cheek was pressed into the hollow space between Jack’s neck and his collarbone. He drew in a deep breath against the smooth skin there, as Jack’s hands grasped against the back of his jacket tightly. Jack’s chin was tucked tight against his shoulder. Other than the slight shuffle of their feet as they found their footing, and Jack’s sharp, ragged breath against his ear, the room was silent. Unconsciously, Ianto ticked away the seconds in his mind as they shifted closer - Jack’s fingers against the back of his head, Ianto’s cheek against Jack’s ear, and his hands snaking up and under Jack’s braces. The brochure crinkled in his pocket as Jack pressed his palms tight against the small of Ianto’s back.

“I…” he started after Jack had released his grip for a moment. He fumbled in his pocket for the brochure, and set it on Jack’s desk. They both stared down at it and the mountains in the photo stared back at them, framed by rolling green hills and clear streams.

“I was going to call,” Ianto said. “But….” Ianto cleared his throat – his voice sounded rough, strange. Jack was watching him expectantly. “But it’s late,” he finished. “I—I thought they might….”

“What happened to me not knowing how to relax?” Jack asked softly.

Ianto shrugged as well as he could with Jack’s arms still wrapped, now loosely, around him. “I suspect you can learn.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll call tomorrow,” Ianto said and smiled. “In the morning, while you’re in the – I mean, if you’re…”

The room felt slightly claustrophobic and yet simultaneously huge; if he let go, he could fall forever. But then, falling wasn’t so bad, really. It was the landing that killed. Jack was pretending not to look at him expectantly, the forced casualness of his movements so glaringly unlike his normal grace.

Ianto sighed and slid his hands up Jack’s chest. “Are you coming ov – are you coming home tonight?” He held his breath.

Watching a smile slowly break out over Jack’s face, natural and warm and genuine, was pretty remarkable. And he looked shy, and scared, and far more attractive than should be allowed. Jack nodded slowly, his head tilted at a slight angle.

That out of the way, Ianto deflated. “Twenty eight years. I’ll be –”

“Going grey at the temples, I suspect,” Jack stated fiercely and his grip tightened. “I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll age well. Dignified.”

Ianto’s mouth opened to protest, but then he snapped it shut. It wasn’t worth it. For now, in this room late at night, tucked beneath the earth, they could ignore practicality. They could afford to pretend just this once. 

“Still,” he said, instead. “It’s a long way off. I want to update the archives tomorrow.”

Jack gave a reluctant nod, as though keeping their files up-to-date was a symbol of death. Then again, maybe it was.

“And we should try to get more information,” Ianto continued. “Where they come from, how to get rid of them, when they –”

“Let it go,” Jack said quietly, his eyes downcast. “Just for tonight, let it go.”

Ianto stared at Jack for a moment, at the soft lines around his eyes, the round curve of his chin.

He could do this – the thought slipped into a corner of his mind, and stuck there, like it belonged. _He could do this_. With Jack, he could do this. He’d already proven to be fairly good at letting go where Jack was concerned, after all. This, so far as he could figure, was a natural progression. 

He slid his arms down around Jack’s waist and tugged himself close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Jack’s chest. He tilted his head up to catch Jack’s lips in a soft, affirming kiss. 

“You’re very persuasive when you want to be. You know that, right?” Ianto told him, smiling at the light that had filtered back into Jack’s eyes.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jack said. His face was so close, their noses almost touching, and Ianto could barely make out anything else – even the lights in the room seemed engulfed by Jack’s presence.

Ianto swallowed and tilted his head back for a moment. 

“Look,” he started. “I want you to know that I’ll let this go if that’s what you want. I’ll avoid it, never bring it up again. I just want –”

“Ianto,” Jack interrupted, but then shook his head quickly. “No, go on.” He squeezed Ianto’s arm encouragingly. “Please.”

Ianto closed his eyes for a moment. “I know how hard it must be for you, when things like this come up. I want to make it easier. If that means avoiding it, I can do that. I want you to trust me.”

“I do,” Jack told him. “I do trust you. So much.”

“It’s getting late,” Ianto murmured, his gaze flicking to the tumbler of whisky, amber and refractive. Jack never took his with ice, but Ianto preferred it that way. He’d have to get some in the kitchenette if he wanted it, though. It wasn’t really worth it.

Jack shifted until he was directly behind him and wrapped his arms around Ianto’s waist. His chin rested lightly on Ianto’s shoulder. “Finish your drink,” he said softly. “It’s hard for everyone, isn’t it? When I was younger, I was convinced that my parents were indestructible, that they’d live forever.”

Ianto smiled. He let his head fall a little to the left. “I suppose everyone thinks that at some point.”

“But,” Jack continued, “I never really had to consider…you know…dying and having to deal with someone outliving me. Not in the same way.” He sighed. “It’d be easier if you hated me.”

“This is Torchwood,” Ianto breathed and closed his eyes tightly. “We don’t do easy. It’s in the charter. And don’t think I haven’t tried.”

Ianto could feel Jack’s chin dig into his shoulder as he nodded. “It’d be easier, but I’m really glad you don’t.”

“I –” Ianto cleared his throat. “I can’t get my drink if you’re going to insist on clinging to me all night.”

“Fine, fine.” Jack backed away, his arms slipping away from Ianto’s waist with heavy reluctance. “You’re right, it _is_ late.” He walked around the desk and sat in his chair, leaning back as Ianto settled into the seat across from him. “You did good work, by the way.”

Ianto put the glass to his mouth and smiled over the rim. It was fascinating, the way Jack slipped from lover to boss in the blink of an eye, and yet never really managed to completely turn off either. It was more like a sliding scale than a switch, really. A dimmer.

“I wish I could’ve done more,” Ianto said and swallowed some of the whisky.

“You _will_ do more,” Jack murmured, his voice low, curiously fervent.

“But not with this,” Ianto observed, eyeing the tumbler, still wishing for ice, as if it’s presence would somehow fix everything that needed fixing, or cast things in a different light. 

Or, quite possibly, it was just getting late and they both needed sleep. 

“No,” Jack said after a moment and took a long sip from his glass. “Not with this. This, you’ll have to entrust to me.” 

Then he smiled and Ianto couldn’t figure out the source of the warmth flooding his veins, couldn’t tell if it was due to the drink in his hand, or the equally intoxicating brightness of that smile. 

He tipped the glass back and closed his eyes, just let it all burn down his throat in one go. 

Jack was still grinning at him from the other side of the desk. “I know I said it was getting late, but it’s not a race, you know.”

“It’s always a race, Jack,” Ianto quipped. Jack raised his glass in apparent agreement and then downed it just as quickly. 

“You know,” Ianto said, and his eyes fell to focus on his empty glass, at the slight residue of moisture collecting at its base. He shifted a sheet of paper underneath it without thinking and then raised his eyes to meet Jack’s. “I was going to ask them about you. The night travelers. They were going to tell me all your secrets.”

“You’re assuming I still have secrets.”

“Well, one can always hope.” He smiled at Jack. 

He felt a familiar note of affection spark in his chest as he watched Jack. Jack was eyeing him curiously, hopefully, as if he was still seeking something after all this time. Forgiveness, maybe, or approval. Ianto could never tell.

“You don’t need them,” Jack said and Ianto found himself nodding, even though he wasn’t exactly sure he agreed.

Then Jack stood up, and told him they were going home, and Ianto just followed him to the other end of the room. Before he knew it his fingers were grasping at Jack’s coat, pulling it off the hook, and holding it there, motionless, as Jack slid his arms inside. 

“I mean it,” Jack said, leaning close. Ianto could feel warm breath on his cheek, could smell the strong scent of alcohol, could feel the warmth of Jack’s skin, as he brought their lips together. Jack’s hands framed his jaw, as if he needed to hold him in place.

“I know,” Ianto said, finally, breaking the spell with a sigh. “Don’t think you don’t have to prove it to me, though.” 

“It might take a while.”

Ianto shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

Everything was quiet for a moment and then Jack brought his hand to rest on the door frame. 

“I promise I’ll fix this,” Jack said. He sounded exhausted, weary. “The night travelers. I’ll fix it.”   
Ianto just stared at his back, frozen to the spot. 

“After you’re gone, I'll fix it," Jack said. "I’ll fix everything.”

Ianto blinked. Then he swallowed, and blinked again, and Jack still hadn’t moved. He placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder, and felt Jack give a brief shudder, a brief release of tension.

“I know you will,” Ianto told him, feeling Jack’s hand, warm and familiar, covering his own. It was probably all the proof he’d ever needed, right there. “But tonight you’re taking me home.”

“Yes,” Jack whispered and turned to face him. “Yes, I am.”

**END**


End file.
